Fresh Air
by queenfirst
Summary: Moving to Namimori was supposed to be nice and calming - a shame it was anything but. It was like Tsubame was drawn to messy situations, and nothing was messier than a magical mafia.
1. Of Introductions and Disruptions

A/N. This fic has been in the works for years now. When I first wrote it, I was still in high school. I'm currently in my second year of uni. I've put off publishing this, because it's far from perfect, but I guess it's now or never. If there any mistakes, anything cringey or snooze-worthy, let me know in a review so I can fix it and give you guys the best possible outcome!

Enjoy.

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I

 _Of Introductions and Disruptions_

The first time she met Sawada Tsunayoshi, he stripped down all the way to his boxers and tackled two men to the ground.

It happened as she was hurrying to the school, similarly tardy students spread out around her. A slice of bread was stuffed into Tsubame's mouth—she didn't even have time to toast it!—as she quickened her pace. The bell was going to ring soon, and she was cutting it close.

Damn it, couldn't her parents have at least given her a working alarm clock before they abandoned her? Shipping her off to another town without all the necessities… How very like them.

Tsubame's preoccupation with her grumblings made her blind to her surroundings. Too little too late did her ears pick up the thundering footsteps, and realisation quite literally slammed into her. With a grunt, she crashed into the harsh gravel.

"Ow! What the hell?!" barked a voice, and Tsubame couldn't help but think the same. "Watch where you're going, girl!"

Um, _what_?

Tsubame picked her sore body up from the dusty ground. She shot a glare at the battering ram of a boy as she adjusted her glasses, which had managed to survive the fall. "You realise you were the one who knocked _me_ into the ground, right?" she said coldly. "Or is your pea-sized brain unable to comprehend that?"

Oops. Bad idea. Tsubame snapped her mouth shut, but it was too late – the damage was done. Even half a country away, she could hear her mother's nagging reprimands and feel her dad's disapproving gaze.

While the thug's face turned as red as his shirt, his friend behind him sniggered. Tsubame wondered if he was trying to imitate a brain-dead seal. "Look at her," he snorted, pointing a fat finger in her direction. "The little girl thinks she can talk like that and get away with it."

 _Little_ girl? She was fourteen and, judging by their crumpled uniforms, even from the same school as them. Though her lips were pursed to prevent a slew of insults pouring forth, Tsubame couldn't help but glower.

Red sniffed. "You could have seriously hurt me, brat. Apologise!"

Tsubame's lips curled. "Make me," she said, before she realised it. Ah, crap. She probably deserved the smack-down coming her way any time now.

The two bullies grinned. "My pleasure," said Red.

Tsubame's body tensed in preparation. Even as Red took a step towards her—really? She was only worth the one opponent?—she couldn't help but think of her thick-headed parents, who had duped themselves into believing their fourteen-year-old daughter was capable of living on her own in a tranquil town such as Namimori. There was less violence, less ill-will than the districts in Tokyo. She wanted to laugh at the irony.

Speaking of her parents…

Even as Red grabbed a fistful of her shirt, his hand grazing her chest _(gross)_ , Tsubame managed to maintain her impassive expression. "Assault can lead to a maximum sentence of two years in prison," she informed them, reciting a line she had long since memorised. "You'd be expelled in no time."

Red faltered for a second before shrugging. "You won't tell anyone," he assured her, as he reared back his arm to give her a solid punch. Tsubame barely had time to think, ' _Well, shit'_ before her cheek exploded with pain.

It ended as abruptly as it began.

As Tsubame heaved herself onto her hands for the second time in two minutes, she thought she heard someone scream, "Reborn!" followed by the tearing of fabric, oddly enough. It might have been the ringing in her ears, though.

She looked up, and things got even weirder. A boy clad in nothing but orange boxers shot towards the bewildered delinquents with the ferocity of a mad lion. "Teach them a lesson as if I were about to die!" he roared over the cowed screeching of the other boys, who soon crumpled to the ground as the exhibitionist dispatched them with a punch to the gut and a kick to the jaw, respectively.

"What…the hell?" she muttered, getting to her feet.

The boy turned, and Tsubame should have been terrified that she now had the attention of someone strong enough to take out two others without breaking a sweat. But, for some reason, she didn't feel wary in the least. Maybe she had a concussion. That would explain why she saw a flame flickering on his forehead. She blinked, but the fire was gone. Yep – definitely a concussion.

The half-naked boy took half a step towards her. "A-Are you okay?" he asked, large brown eyes lingering on her wounded cheek.

Tsubame winced. The shock of the situation faded, allowing her to feel the intense throb in her face. She managed a curt nod at the brunette, who was so timid and shy that Tsubame couldn't help but wonder if she had just imagined what took place. But, no, the groaning of the semi-sentient bodies to the side reassured her that it was all real.

"Um, I—I'm late!" The boy clutched his head, as if realisation suddenly struck him. "Hibari-san is going to kill me!" And then he took off, the bizarre boy in boxers, his sudden terror seizing hold of him and causing him forget all about Tsubame and her previous predicament.

After a slight pause, Tsubame shook her head – and immediately wanted to slap herself because of that pain that exploded from a cheek as a result of the small action. But that was nothing compared to her damaged pride.

She followed after the scrawny boy, who was nothing but a blur now. Tsubame tried to erase all the thoughts terrorising her mind, which was exceedingly difficult since her inner mind theatre seemed intent in replaying the scenario again and again.

"What just happened?" she murmured to herself, head spinning. Whatever the answer may be, Tsubame knew one thing for sure – her life in Namimori was _not_ going to be peaceful in the least. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Several minutes later, as she reached the school gates, Tsubame still didn't know what to make of it all. The best explanation she could come up with was that Boxer Boy—for lack of actual name—was simply an escapee from a nearby mental asylum or some sorts. It wouldn't surprise her if this allegedly quaint town had such a facility.

Tsubame glanced up at her new—and hopefully momentary—school. Namimori Middle was nice, she supposed, but nothing too impressive compared to the schools she had attended.

Her lack of awe was also probably due to the fact that this was her second time here. The first was when she had collected her uniform and handed in her paperwork. Nothing much had changed in the little time she had last been here; the trees were still shrivelled up and struggling to bloom, the fading paint job was in dire need of a new coat, and – wait. There was something new after all.

Or should she say _someone_? Because that someone was stationed at the front, reclined against the wall like a lazy cat. He turned towards her as she approached, silver-blue eyes narrowing.

"You're late," he kindly informed her.

She managed a shrug. "I'm new to this town and got lost."

The boy scrutinised her, as if searching for hints of dishonesty in her half-truth. It was unlike when the delinquents scanned her over, she noted; this boy's gaze was much more calculating and unfeeling.

If she knew it was going to be this troublesome, she should have simply told the truth – she had run into some trouble. He probably deduced as much from the way his icy eyes lingered on her sore cheek. Still, she doubted that someone as official-looking as him would be too impressed with the new student getting into a fight on her first day.

Tsubame tried to restrain herself from fidgeting. The playful smile he was wearing didn't help. It reminded the teen of her cat after he had devoured her mother's canary. And then Nyanko was put down…

He was the first to end the rigid silence.

"Fine," he said. "Because of your circumstances, I'll excuse you for today. But if there is a repeat of your tardiness, then…" He smile grew sinister. "I'll bite you to death."

Despite the warning bells shrieking in her mind, Tsubame forced herself to lock eyes with the boy before her. He was threatening her? Fine, then. But she wouldn't take it lying down.

Victorious triumph shot through her as a frown flickered onto his features. "Class?" he asked, turning to the school.

Tsubame hesitated. Why was he helping her? When his gaze sharpened at her delay, she murmured, "1-A."

He nodded once, eyes hooded and posture slumped, as he led the way into her prison. Tsubame breathed in the only bout of fresh air she would receive in a while before following him.

She had to power-walk to keep up with his long strides. He probably didn't care if she could keep up, and definitely wouldn't adjust his speed to suit her needs. Even with her quickened pace, Tsubame was still a ways behind him. Damn her short legs.

Her eyes strayed to the red armband pinned to the sleeve of his sleek black blazer. She adjusted her glasses as she struggled to read the emblazoned gold inscription.

Before she could stop herself, she asked, "What does your armband say?"

His swift pace faltered for a second before he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. Silence reigned, and when it became clear he wasn't going to reply, Tsubame scowled. She was so focussed in burning a hole in his back that she only just realised they had passed the classroom. The bastard didn't even stop.

To thank him or not to thank him? He had gone out of the way to assist a stranger like her, but could she actually label that as 'assistance'? Her mental debate was cut off by an abrupt, "Discipline."

She stared at the boy in black, who was pinning her with a curious stare. "It says 'discipline'."

Well, that decided that.

"Thank you," she practically shouted, for he was turning the corner. Maybe he wasn't such a bad person after all.

"All debts must be repaid," he replied.

Never mind.

All her excitement for the day must have been used up that morning, because the next few hours were a complete bore. As she was introduced to them, her classmates greeted her with mild curiosity, which sharpened almost palpably when they noticed the wound on her face. Tsubame had defended herself from their probing gazes by flicking her ponytail to the front, draping it over her left shoulder and shielding that side of her face from view.

But that barely deterred them. Come break, a handful of her classmates congregated around her like flies to honey. Their incessant buzzing was cut off when Tsubame simply stared at them, refusing to play their game. They dispersed quickly enough after that.

The moment the lunch bell rang, Tsubame bolted out of the classroom so quickly she wouldn't have been surprised if she left a smoking trail in her wake.

Seriously, how big was this school?

Her shoes tapped against the ridiculously shiny tiles, echoing over the din of scribbling pens and drawling of teachers from the classrooms she passed by.

Not only were floors spotless, so were the walls. Unlike her previous school, there was hardly any graffiti decorating the walls, and barely any trash littering the hallways. It was eerie. The longer Tsubame traversed the halls of Namimori Middle, the more she felt the immaculate white walls were closing in on her.

The rest of the morning passed by uneventfully. People finally stopped gawking at her every few minutes, and the workload wasn't too unbearable. Her mind wandered back to the mildly dangerous encounters in the hallway and on the roof. If the delinquents were less cowardly, and Discipline Man slightly more vicious, she would still be in the nurse's office, prostrate and unconscious.

Tsubame was no combatant. She had a vague knowledge of a few moves that could stun an opponent long enough for her to flee, and she was also familiar with a gun. But neither of those factors would assist her in the long run, since a) her blows landed as much of a hit as a feather did and b) getting her hands on a gun was out of the question. The only weapon she really had was her head.

A shrill ring of the bell declared the commencement of lunch. Tsubame reclined in her seat, silently thanking whatever deity was out there that the first half of the day had ended. With her head tilted toward the ceiling, she didn't notice the two girls approach her desk until one of them released an "Ahem".

Tsubame snapped towards the source of the noise, her neck cracking with whiplash. Someone had actually bothered to approach her? She needed to increase the intensity of her glares.

But it turned out her iciest stare would be no match for the girl before her. Short hair rarely worked well for teenage girls, but this one wore it flawlessly. Her large eyes were the same shade of caramel as her pixie-like hair, and her smile was dazzling. Tsubame found herself subconsciously shrinking back, her mind hissing about the blinding brightness that this girl radiated.

"Hello," she said, her voice tooth-achingly sweet. Tsubame felt a cavity developing somewhere in the back of her mouth. "My name is Sasagawa Kyoko. It's nice to meet you, Kishino-chan."

"I'm Kurokawa Hana." Too late did Tsubame catch sight of the girl slightly behind and to the right of Sasagawa. But could anyone fault her? The Sasagawa girl's mere presence threatened to reduce Tsubame to ashes.

Silently wondering what on earth they wanted, Tsubame nodded in greeting. At the gesture, Sasagawa's smile widened. Tsubame grimaced in response.

"Since you're new, Kishino-chan," began Sasagawa, "and you don't really know anyone, would you like to have lunch with us?"

A pause. Then a blink. Was she… Was she trying to befriend her? Deep down, Tsubame was touched at the gesture. But as she gazed at Sasagawa's allegedly sweet countenance, she was suddenly bombarded with memories best left repressed.

She didn't want to entangle herself with all _that_ again. Because the more she delved into the fragile bonds of friendship, the tighter she would be bound and, in the end, the cords would strangle and suffocate her.

"No," she whispered, lowering her eyes. "Thank you for the offer."

Without another word or even another glance, Tsubame left the classroom, clutching her bag to her side. She swept through the building, the sight of wide caramel eyes burning into her mind.

Hibari Kyoya vowed to never fully let his guard down. Not when he was eating, not when he was bathing, not even when he was sleeping. And his senses were definitely on high alert as he soaked in what little sunshine there was, the sky mostly overrun with clouds. Even though it was his territory, he was unable to relax completely. Someone could have waltzed in while his defences were lowered, spotted his recumbent position, and taken advantage of it. Then again, anyone fool enough to employ this tactic would find themselves in an uninhabited island somewhere off the coast of Australia.

He hadn't been aware of such exposure until this morning. Like a mouse, the transfer student had strolled right onto the roof, acting as though she owned the place. Were Hibari asleep, he would have been ignorant of her appearance. As it was, he had barely heard her enter.

It was a fluke, he told himself. He was feeling particularly groggy this morning, and this girl was in no way an active threat, so she had slipped beneath his radar.

But flukes didn't occur twice.

An audible (though it was partially muted thanks to the rowdy herbivores below) crunch jolted Hibari out of his reverie. His senses narrowed in on the source within a second, and he wasn't surprised to discover that it was the same girl from before. She sat on the other side of the roof, nibbling on her apple half-heartedly.

With every bite she took, his irritation grew. No one should have dared to situate themselves on the roof and casually have lunch there – especially when they were in his very presence. It seemed he had to teach this mouse a lesson. And Hibari made an excellent teacher.

The clouds overhead obscured the sun completely, darkening the grounds. The Head of the Disciplinary Committee gracefully swooped down and towards the oblivious girl. Her back was to him, but even as he stood directly behind her, she showed no sign that she had noticed him.

"Herbivore."

No response. Hibari hitched his glare up a notch.

"Hey."

The girl finally started. She whipped her head around, her ponytail slammed against his leg. Hibari growled softly.

The girl stared up at him, her eyes dull beneath her glasses. Hibari scowled. Anyone else would have flinched and backed away, fear flooding their eyes and anxiety clawing at their insides. They would be fleeing from him, all the while screaming apologies.

This girl did not. She hardly reacted. Part of Hibari wanted her eyes to ignite with the same obstinacy she displayed earlier that day, when they first met. It was vexing, true, but anything was better than the dead pools of ink he was gazing at.

The girl lowered her head, as most would. But she did not do so out of distress – it was out of disinterest. Like he wasn't worth her time.

"This is the second time in one day you've disturbed my peace," he hissed venomously.

The veiled threat did not disturb the girl. "Is that against school rules?"

Hibari frowned, recalling the similar words he had uttered an hour or so ago. "No," he admitted reluctantly. "But it's my territory." Unfortunately, he wasn't aware of how pathetically petulant his defence was until the deed was done.

"I don't see your name anywhere."

Was he like a noisy dog in her eyes? All bark and no bite? Hibari's frustration bubbled beneath his skin. With a flick of his wrist, his tonfas materialised in his hands. He was itching to blow off some steam, and this herbivore was the perfect target.

Before he could strike, the girl released a sigh. "Then again, it _is_ your place," she mumbled, mostly to herself. "Sorry."

She started to rise, and Hibari turned away, shielding his expression. "Whatever," he said dismissively, his tonfas disappearing from whence they came. "Do as you wish. But don't make a single sound. If you do, I'll bite you to death."

If she had apologised like a coward, sniffling and scrambling away like the others, he would have definitely sent her to the hospital. As it turned out, this girl was full of surprises.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Hibari grunted.

The clouds finally parted, revealing the smiling sun and painting the world with dazzling light. The fog in Tsubame's eyes cleared and her heart became lighter. She watched the fallen angel return to his spot, wondering what his name was. She would have asked, but the 'no noise' rule was fresh in her mind like a recently-inflicted wound, and she was not about to massage it with salt.

Replacing her half-eaten apple with a book, Tsubame ignored her unsatisfied stomach and began to read. She turned each page with the same caution one would use to diffuse a bomb, wary of waking the snoozing dragon. And slowly, very slowly, Tsubame began to relax.


	2. Of (Un)pleasant Surprises

A/N: Thank you for your lovely reviews! They're always a pleasure to read. :)

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II

 _Of (Un)Pleasant Surprises_

The second half of the first day of Tsubame's new school was slightly more bearable. There were no more wild escapades and certainly no more self-inflicted harm. Naturally, the period of peace didn't last.

The final bell of the day chimed cheerfully. Faster than anyone could comprehend, Tsubame snatched her bag from her seat and strode out of the school. Relief washed over her like the first drops of rain after a year-long drought.

Where to go? 'Home' wasn't exactly an option, since she would only be greeted by silence.

Beneath her shoes, the pavement was smooth, worn out by the hundreds of feet that trampled on it daily. If she remained on one of the main roads, she wouldn't wind up in the shady part of town that housed the drug-dealers and thugs. Even though she had seen neither hair nor hide of said people, she had a feeling Namimori held numerous dangers in its thorny clutches.

And what place couldn't be more devoid of gangsters? The library, of course.

After several minutes of stressful searching, an interesting-sounding book caught her eye. Tsubame stretched upwards and reached towards her new companion.

Her fingers barely brushed the bottom of the book. With a determined scowl, she balanced on the tip of her toes and just managed to touch it before her traitorous feet gave out under her.

Instead of landing back on her feet and standing once more like a normal person, Tsubame was sent rocketing back. (Part of her tried to pin the blame on her new school shoes mandated by Namimori High. Those things had zero grip.) Instinctively, she extended her hands to soften the impact. But then she felt a large hand gently but sturdily cusp the small of her back. She turned towards its owner.

Tan skin and well-toned muscles, the teen was absolute eye-candy. Tsubame had to crane her neck to see his face, and startled black eyes met concerned brown ones. He broke into a smile once he realised she was uninjured, and Tsubame was worried about the amount of sparkly smiles she was faced with today.

Now back on her feet, she realised how tall the boy was. Her eyes were level with his shoulder, and she instantly recognised the uniform he donned. It belonged to Namimori Middle School. A bag was slung over his shoulder, and in it was a baseball bat.

Tsubame recalled seeing that face before. They were in the same class, if she wasn't mistaken. But what was his name again?

Yamamoto Takeshi chuckled at the transfer student. With the detached aura she constantly exuded, who knew she could pull such a funny face? Her brows were scrunched in concentration, the white bandage on her cheek contrasting sharply with her dark features. She stole glances at him sporadically, and the baseball lover had a feeling she was unsure of whom he was, exactly.

Grinning, he decided to lend her a hand. (Again. Though not quite literally this time.) "Yo, transfer student. I'm Yamamoto Takeshi," he greeted brightly.

Understanding cleared her expression. He thought he saw irritation light up in those dark eyes, but it was probably the glare of the lights on her glasses. She nodded, muttering, "Kishino Tsubame."

"You wanted that book, right?" he asked, gesturing to the thick novel that sat in the top shelf. When she nodded, albeit hesitantly, he pulled it down from its place and handed it to her.

He was expecting a look of gratitude, or even a smile. But what he received was a scowl. Surprise electrified his features, and it must have been obvious, for the tiny girl soon mumbled, "Thank you, tall person. For helping me twice."

He smiled, flushing faintly. Her words possessed a sincerity that he rarely encountered. "No problem," he replied easily. "And call me Yamamoto."

She nodded once more. A girl of few words, he noted. To keep the conversation going, Takeshi searched for another topic. "Have you started on the homework yet?"

That certainly drew her attention. Wide eyes searched him imploringly. "What homework?"

He grinned in amusement. This girl sure was something. "You know, the History report. The teacher told us to write one page on World War Two, using at least two books as sources. That's why I'm in here…though I haven't actually found anything yet," he admitted, scratching the nape of his neck.

Without further ado, Tsubame found herself assisting the clueless boy. "These are the most useful ones, right?" Yamamoto asked, waving two books before her. When Tsubame nodded, he said cheerfully, "Then it wouldn't be fair if only I used it, when you're the one who found it for me."

"I can borrow it off of you when you're done with them."

"But it's due tomorrow."

The poor girl looked so horrified Yamamoto struggled not to laugh aloud.

He snapped his fingers as an idea struck him. "You can come over to my place," he suggested. "We could do it here in the library, but it can get rowdy sometimes." Sure, libraries were meant to be relatively quiet, but Takeshi discovered over the years that Namimori wasn't exactly a conventional town.

"That's…fine with me," Tsubame said slowly.

Grinning gleefully, Yamamoto led Tsubame out of the building without further preamble. Man, when was the last time he brought a friend over? In elementary school when they had been assigned that group task? It felt like eons ago.

His old man would be glad to see Tsubame. Pops occasionally dropped (rather obvious) hints about bringing friends over. Yamamoto always laughed it off to disguise the fact he didn't really have any. Sure, he had his teammates, his classmates and even his group of admirers, but he didn't have an actual friend to rely on, no one to turn to when he was down in the dumps, no one to have a heart-to-heart with.

Over the years, he sought comfort in baseball. He was a fantastic player, one whose skills were unrivalled. If he ever felt conflicted or morose, if his heart was drowning in pain, a few swings with his baseball bat allayed his frayed nerves. Lately, though, even his one friend was beginning to let him down.

Seeing the taught grimace on Yamamoto's usually-cheery face, Tsubame frowned. Was that concern he saw flashing through her eyes? Nevertheless, Yamamoto forced a smile, not wanting to plague her with worries.

If anything, her frown deepened. "You shouldn't smile if you don't want to," she told the ground.

Yamamoto blinked in surprise. This time, a genuine, if small, smile graced his lips. "Yeah," he said. "Thanks."

Tsubame's body shut down as a warm hand ruffled through her hair. Typically, she would have slapped the offending hand away, but Yamamoto's soft smile melted all indignation from her system.

"Well, we're here!" announced Yamamoto, acting as if he hadn't just invaded her personal space. He flung his arms out, gesturing towards what appeared to be a mixture of a shack and a building. The cooling air stirred, causing the blue banners attached to the paper door to dance. Striking white letters were painted on the sapphire material, reading: 'Yamamoto sushi restaurant'. A rather lacklustre name, if straightforward.

"You live in a sushi restaurant?" Tsubame asked, baffled.

Yamamoto laughed brightly. "So you _can_ joke around! You always look so serious, Tsubame."

That was because she was always serious.

"No, no," he continued, grinning. "We live above it." The vivacious teen pointed to the top half of the building, a squat apartment that sat on the restaurant half. "Come on, we can study in the living room."

As it turned out, it would be a long while before they actually touched their homework.

The moment Tsubame stepped inside the building, her face connected with someone's back. Mumbling a half-hearted apology, she turned to walk around them, when a sea of bodies smashed into her. She and Yamamoto were tossed around helplessly as customer after customer crashed into the restaurant.

"Oh, there are a lot of customers today!" Yamamoto's voice chirped. Thankfully, they hadn't been separated (yet).

The mass of bodies continued to surge forward, slamming Tsubame's side into the hard surface of a counter. Her glasses threatened to slip off—she really needed a new pair—but she managed to keep it in place. She grunted as the air forced its way out of her lungs, and two bouts of "Are you alright?" rang in both her ears. The voice with the higher pitch was easily identified as Yamamoto's, but the lower, rougher voice belonged to an unknown.

Swivelling her head, she immediately identified the owner of the voice as Yamamoto's father. The close-cropped dark hair, the cordial chocolate eyes, the wrinkles that indicated how much they smiled; it was like looking at an older, wiser version of Yamamoto.

Once assured she would live, Yamamoto senior raised his eyes and caught sight of his beloved son. His chapped lips broke into a grin, bellowing a, "Welcome back, Takeshi!" He regained his previous grim expression quickly. "Thank God you're here. We need a hand."

The stream of people had faltered by now, but many lingered in the restaurant. Some seated themselves, while others fidgeted impatiently as they scanned the menus and waited to be served.

Yamamoto Jr. nodded in understanding. "I'll get right on it, pops." He turned to Tsubame, kindly remembering she was with him. "You're going to have to start without me, Tsubame."

Tsubame cursed herself for what she was about to do. "I'll help," she sighed, removing her school bag and grabbing a nearby navy apron.

She could practically see sparkles flying from Yamamoto's eyes. Was it too late to retract her offer? "Really? You're so kind!" he chirped. Oblivious to Tsubame's bewildered expression and—dare she say it— _pleased_ blush, he grabbed both their bags, planning to store them in the house.

The next hour or so passed by in a blur. Tsubame adopted the system readily. Greet customers (un)enthusiastically, take down orders (half-heartedly), inform the chef, serve, clean. Though it didn't seem much, the constant action, the humidity and lack of respite left Tsubame sweating buckets and panting lightly. Regret nipped at her heels, and a mantra of "selfishness leads to happiness" swirled in her mind. But every time she caught either of the Yamamotos's gazes, their warm, grateful smiles chased away the gloom weighing her down.

The stench of fish latched onto her, and she idly wondered if cats would like her now.

The dinner rush died down eventually. The moment her assistance was no longer required, Tsubame unceremoniously plopped herself on one of the benches and proceeded to not move a single muscle. That was enough physical exertion for a lifetime, in her books.

The cushioned seat sighed as someone sat across her. "Wasn't that fun?" Though her eyes were shut, Tsubame was one-hundred percent sure Yamamoto was grinning like the madman he was. Did he ever run out of energy?

"I'm never eating fish ever again," she groaned.

"That's a shame." After working for Tsuyoshi for two hours, listening to him yell above the chatter of the customers and the clamour of the shop, Tsubame could identify his voice as easily as she could spell her name (well, in Kana, anyway). "Now I have to find something else to treat you with."

Treat? As in, food? Tsubame's eyes snapped open and she rose from her position like the waking dead. Her stomach bellowed like a furious dragon, ready to devour anything and everything in its sight.

Even with inept parents, Tsubame knew the basic pleasantries. "Thank you," she said, nodding her head in a small bow.

Tsuyoshi laughed the laugh all Yamamotos seemed to inherit. "Any time. You were a huge help! We never formally introduced ourselves, did we? I'm Yamamoto Tsuyoshi."

Tsubame stood up and bowed. "Kishino Tsubame."

"Wow! Your friend is so polite, Takeshi!"

A bubbly laugh. "I know, right?"

Everything—the cheerful chuckles of the Yamamotos, the pleasant chit-chat of the customers—was drowned out by the deafening drumming of Tsubame's heart. "Actually," she piped up, dispelling the ambiance, "I have to go. Take a shower and get started on that report and all that."

Tsuyoshi frowned. "But we need to thank you."

Yamamoto mirrored his father's dismay. "But you need the books."

"Your gratitude is more than enough," she said hurriedly. "And I always have the Internet. Thank you, again." As she bowed in farewell, thunder boomed, shaking the restaurant and causing Tsubame to jump. Anxiety pulsing through her veins, Tsubame sprinted to the exit. She lifted the banner to check the weather, hoping it wasn't too late. The moment she poked her head out, the sky spat a barrage of bitter raindrops, soaking her instantly.

Like the rain, defeat seeped into her body. She returned inside, shoulders slumped. She couldn't fight fate, it seemed.

The Yamamotos did not share her despondency. "Looks like you have to stay, after all!" the younger one chirped.

A clap of thunder resounded, and lightning illuminated the shop ominously.


	3. Of Humiliation and Mortification

III

 _Of Humiliation and Mortification_

It was a jovial morning in the quaint town of Namimori. The sun hovered in the azure sky, a welcome sight after the tumultuous storm last night, with its fierce, relentless gales and torrential, biting pellets of rain.

The only remnants of said storm were several drops of water sprinkled over the leaves and grass. The birds sang and rejoiced at the lovely sight, while the squirrels chattered and scampered to and fro, much to the delight of those who had risen early to enjoy the promising day. Everyone seemed to appreciate pleasant weather.

Except for a certain girl.

Tsubame shot out of bed and towards the unfamiliar window, slamming it shut and effectively cutting off the birdsong outside.

Satisfied, she dashed back to the bed, curling into her cocoon of blankets. Her forbidden love with sleep, however, was not to last. Someone stormed up the stairs, throwing the door open with a _bang_.

"Tsubame!" called Yamamoto, his voice awfully cheerful considering the time. "Time to get up!"

"I'll take a rain-check on that, thanks," came a muffled voice.

"Didn't you get enough rain last night?"

With a growl, Tsubame tore the sheets off of her body, ignoring the sudden chill caused by the lack of warmth. "Stupid rain," she hissed.

Because of the storm, Tsubame was forced to _socialise_ all night. Because of the storm, each time the thunder roared, Tsubame flinched – much to her humiliation and Yamamoto's amusement. Because of the storm, she was in foreign territory and couldn't sleep. By the time she had grown accustomed to her environment, the first signs of daylight began to emerge.

"Come on," chirped Yamamoto. "We're gonna be late."

An image of Disciplinary Man flashed through her mind. He probably wouldn't take too kindly with her tardiness. She met Yamamoto's radiant smile with a grimace. It should be illegal to be so cheerful so early in the morning.

With a huff, Tsubame crawled out of bed and slid her glasses in place. She grumbled slightly as she went through her morning routine. Using the spare toothbrush the Yamamotos had given her, she hastily cleaned her teeth with one hand, the other struggling to tame her wild mane. She slowly ran the comb through her thick locks, taking care not to the snap the flimsy item—as there were only men in the household, they didn't possess a proper hair brush.

Tsubame's hand went slack by her side. She couldn't believe Yamamoto had lost his mother and, judging by the few photos they possessed, at such a young age. Though thoroughly irritating, Tsubame could only imagine what strife she and her father would face if her mother had died. Unlike her, Yamamoto and his father had _real_ issues. Guilt clawed at her insides.

There was a knock at the door of the bathroom, "Breakfast is done," said Yamamoto, voice muffled by the door. "Come down when you're ready."

"Okay." Before the baseball fan could leave, Tsubame uttered a hesitant, "Yamamoto? Th…Thanks."

* * *

She inspected the corridor before her with mild interest. Not that it was any different to its counterparts, no, but she simply had nothing better to do than count each and every individual tile glued into the surface.

Why was she in the hallway? Why wasn't she in class? Well, strange voice in her head, the answer was a very simple, if embarrassing, one: she had fallen asleep in class. No less than five minutes into the lesson did Tsubame find her eyes closing against her own accord. She awoke to the unpleasant sight of her home-room teacher's murky eyes.

In her defence, it wasn't entirely her fault. The guilt could be traced back to that damned homework task. It had consumed her entire evening, and then some.

Yamamoto must have noticed her lethargy, because he constantly offered her encouragements during their walk. When they heard the distinct screech of the morning bell, he had snatched up her wrist and, laughing, pulled her along into a sprint. Needless to say, the baseball player ran like a madman. Her arm was still smarting.

Absentmindedly, Tsubame ran a hand through her hair. She didn't have time to tie it back in the high ponytail she usually wore it in, so it fell freely to her waist. It was annoying, practically begging to be yanked on. She should probably cut it, but she loved her hair – it was the only part of her body she favoured.

Speaking of cuts… Tsubame's hand drifted from her hair to her cheek. She trailed her fingers over the scabbing wound, and it took all her willpower to refrain from clawing at it to satisfy the infernal itch. The feather-light grazing of her fingers didn't placate the itch completely, but it did alleviate it somewhat.

Both her musings and her view of the tiled floor were suddenly interrupted by a pair of pink indoor slippers that were definitely against the school rules. When Tsubame raised her head, she was mildly surprised to see that it belonged to a blonde girl. She wrapped her perfectly manicured fingers around her phone, snapping it shut.

"Hey. You're Kishino Tsubame, right?" she asked, painted lips curled in a mocking smirk. "Huh. You're nothing special."

Um, _what the hell._ Tsubame fought to keep a dispassionate expression as she said, "What do you want?"

"My name is Ami, and I want to talk to you." She turned her back to Tsubame. "Follow me."

There was no way in hell she would do that. "You want to talk?" she drawled. "Fine. But you'll follow me." Because as much as she wanted to ignore this Ami character, Tsubame was interested in what she wanted to say and why, exactly, she had looked at her like she was nothing but trash.

They made their way to the roof silently, with Tsubame leading. It was one of the few places she knew of that would allow them some scope of privacy, away from the prying eyes of students and the ears of teachers. There was only one person she knew of who could endanger her idea, but such a rule-conscious student should surely be in class at the moment.

"So?" she asked, coming to a stop in the centre of the roof. "What is it?"

Ami's drawn-on eyebrows furrowed into a scowl. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded.

Tsubame made a show of rolling her eyes. "I thought we already established who I was. Or did you forget already?"

The girl growled. "Yesterday, you were seen entering the Yamamoto sushi restaurant with Takeshi-sama, and reports state that you didn't leave until this morning! And _then_ you had the gall to hold hands with him!" She thrust a very breakable finger in Tsubame's incredulous face. "If you know what's good for you, you _will_ stop trying to make him yours."

Tsubame's head spun by the end of her speech, but she managed to catch onto one thing. " _Make_ him mine?" she repeated, spitting the words out as if they left a foul taste in her mouth. "He's not a _toy_."

It quickly went downhill from there.

The ridiculous leader of the equally ridiculous fan-club spluttered indignantly before choking out a, "Stay away from him!"

"What makes you think I'll listen to you?" she asked, her irritation getting the best of her.

 _Slap_.

She heard it before she felt it. Tsubame stared, dumbfounded, as pain seared in her cheek. The first thought she had was, _Oh, good, matching wounds on both cheeks._

Then she acted.

Tsubame snapped. She reared her head and rammed it against the other girl's forehead. Stars exploded in her vision but it was worth it, for she was finally rid of the weight on her torso. As the rabid fangirl brought her claws to her throbbing cranium in dazed disbelief, Tsubame plucked her glasses from the ground. It now sported a wonderful crack in one of the lenses.

Heart threatening to leap out her throat, Tsubame took advantage of the temporary pause to turn tail. She had taken but three steps when the day began to take its toll on her body. Her body swayed like a brittle leaf in the wind and she slumped against the wall, vaguely noting the way the harsh bricks scraped at her skin.

The adrenaline roaring in her ears finally receded. Now that the fatigue was settling in, her shoulders slumped as if the strings holding her upright were cut loose.

Still, she did her best to struggle on. The door was so close - she forced herself to reach it - but a sharp tug at the back of her head forced her stop. Ami had gotten hold of hair, and _yanked_ on it viciously. Tsubame yelped as she lost her footing and stumbled onto the ground.

She closed her eyes and squeezed them tight. A vision of her coffin flashed before her eyes. In the deserted graveyard, with only cobwebs for companions, there read a message on her cracked tombstone: R.I.P. Kishino Tsubame. Died at the hands of a rabid fangirl. A disheartening end for an equally disheartening life.

Fists clenched and toes curled, she steeled herself for the inevitable. A surprisingly hard kick slammed into her ribs. Instinctively, she curled into herself, thinking furiously about how to escape.

But it ended as abruptly as it began.

Tsubame suddenly felt the mood shift. Where once there was animosity, the girl now radiated pure fear. Tsubame pried her left eye open out of curiosity (the other one seemed keen on remaining shut). What was going on? Why had she stopped?

A figure was fast approaching, and she understood immediately. The damsel in the distress was about to be rescued by her knight in shining armour. She grinned, even as her body was unceremoniously trodden on by the herbivore fleeing at the sight of Namimori Middle's sole carnivore.

The anti-hero nonchalantly glided over to the prostrate girl. His sleek, jet-black jacket billowed in the increasing wind, and Tsubame couldn't help but compare the sight to the wings of a bat.

"You know," she said conversationally, staring up into Hibari Kyoya's disapproving gaze, "if this was Gotham City, you'd be Batman."

Other than looking mildly baffled, Hibari acted as if hadn't heard her. Silently and effortlessly, he scooped Tsubame into his arms as if she was no heavier than a feather. For a frightening moment, Tsubame assumed he was going to carry her in the princess position, but Hibari—the gentle soul—never failed to disappoint, and apathetically tossed the injured girl over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

A weak grunt wiggled past Tsubame's lips. She glared at the prefect's backside, but did nothing to make her discomfort own. At least she wasn't being dragged on the ground like an obstinate pet.

The consistent tapping of Hibari's steps lulled her into a sleepy state. To keep from falling asleep (and drooling on Hibari's spotless coat), Tsubame murmured, "Sorry for all the trouble, Hibari-san. I…" She swallowed thickly, her mouth going dry. "I couldn't…"

"Stand up for yourself?" Hibari snorted softly. "Obviously. A weakling like you should know better than to face an opponent head-on."

Being an avid fan of literature, Tsubame had learnt to read between the lines and analyse everything thrown her way. But her skills must have grown rusty, because there was no way in hell that Hibari would be worried about her. Maybe someday, when pigs flew or toddlers became assassins.

Despite the unlikeliness of such a thing, Tsubame's eyes crinkled with delight. "Then it's a good thing you arrived when you did, isn't it?"

"Do not misunderstand. I was merely dispersing a pesky bird. Its incessant squawking woke me, and anyone who disturbs my sleep shall consequently be bitten to death."

It was a good thing he couldn't see her amused smirk.

"How strange," he mused, seemingly to himself. "You should have some strength, considering how much you weigh."

Under normal circumstances, Tsubame wouldn't have acknowledged his rude comment. But the superficial trauma and lack of rest damaged her mind, and she wasn't functioning as sensibly as she should have. So it was only understandable that she punished Hibari by jabbing him in the side.

Today, Tsubame learnt the hard way that Hibari Kyoya was painfully ticklish.

* * *

A/N: I was a bit hesitant with this chapter. Was the scene with Ami realistic – or as realistic as something could be in a story filled with toddler-sized assassins? Then again, fangirls (and boys) can be really intense. Stalking, attempted murder, selling their bodies to taxi drivers as a means to pay for their fare as they follow their idol… Yeah, k-pop idols have it tough.

Reviews make my day!


	4. Of Love and War

IV

 _Of Love and War_

Over the years, Tsubame had woken to many things. Screams, shouts, and curses, to name a few. Nothing new, nothing surprising had been sprung on her each time she rose from the pleasant depths of sleep to the land of the living. Nothing, except the sight before her now.

A group of students – they were students, right? Not an army of clones? – stood to her right. Their stiff stances reminded Tsubame of how battle-hardened soldiers carried themselves, limbs unmoving and heads raised. They were dressed similarly, all the way from the how they tucked in their shirts to the brand of their sleek shoes. The most notable parallel, however, was their impressive hairstyle.

Tsubame rubbed the sleep from her eyes, half-hoping the action could dismiss the sight of all the pompadours before her. "Am I still dreaming?" she mumbled blearily.

"Dismissed," someone grunted, and the Pompadour Army bowed dutifully before exiting the room.

As she watched them leave, Tsubame ran a hand over the supple green leather of couch she was sitting on. There were numerous hushed whispers about the disciplinary committee, how they were nothing but a pack of delinquents that were generally tame up to the point where someone broke a rule. It was the ringleader who was cause for concern – a merciless dictator who lashed out at anyone and everyone; a demon from the depths of hell, one whose glare could simultaneously freeze the sun and melt ice caps.

Tsubame wasn't an idiot; she could put two and two together. She was in the den of the infamous disciplinary committee. That would explain the Pompadour Army.

With much effort on her part, Tsubame pried her protesting body off of the couch and stood before the feared head prefect's expansive desk. She drew herself to her full height (which wasn't that great) and said, in as strong a voice she could muster, "Thank you. For helping me. Again." She probably should have slathered her words with more gratitude, but her helplessness wasn't something she liked to advertise, let alone linger on.

"That's the second time I've helped you in two days," Hibari kindly notified her. He reclined in his chair, icy eyes staring ahead in thought. Behind him, the sun was beginning to droop. How long had she been out for? School must have finished ages ago.

Her lips twisted. "I'm in your debt. And all debts must be repaid, right?" she asked, echoing his previous words.

Hibari dipped his head in acknowledgement, his small gesture almost lost in the shadows consuming him. "And what do you have to offer?"

A smirk bloomed on Tsubame's dry lips. "I have something in mind," she declared, the wary whispers of the student body still fresh in her mind, as well as the image of a certain blonde girl.

"I want to join the disciplinary committee."

"I want to resign from the disciplinary committee."

A deep chuckle rumbled from her right, and if Tsubame's arm didn't feel like lead, she'd punch the perpetrator's leg. It was conveniently situated beside her head, too. As it was, she settled for a petulant glare. Kusakabe merely grinned down at her, the bastard.

As Hibari's second-in-command, Tsubame had expected Kusakabe to behave like…well, like someone directly under Hibari's control: cold as ice and harsh as stone. She was pleasantly surprised when she realised that, despite his alarming appearance, he was anything but. Maybe his benevolence came with age? Sure, he acted like he was in middle school, but he sure as hell looked nothing like a teenager.

"I'm afraid you can't do that, Kishino-san," he said amiably, blissfully unaware of Tsubame's uncomplimentary thoughts. He leaned back on the committee's couch. "Once you're in, you're in. There's no escape." He frowned and stroked his chiselled chin in thought. "Unless it's through death, of course."

He was kidding, right?

Tsubame shifted, careful not to disturb the injuries assaulting her tired body. Though part of her wanted to stay lying on the ground and let the cool tiles soothe her angry wounds, she knew she would end up paying for itin the end. So it was with much reluctance and effort that Tsubame managed to pull herself up in a sitting position, wincing the entire time.

The disciplinary committee's infinitely kinder deputy frowned, the grass twig in his mouth drooping slightly. Tsubame's eyes focused on it intently. Why did he have such a weird habit? Wasn't he wary of the hygienic consequences? Perhaps the twig excreted a nutrient that allowed Kusakabe to serve the fearsome head prefect without any fear. Maybe it was meant to keep others from discovering that the grass was actually a drug which empowered him immensely, but aged him as a drawback. Or maybe—

Before her theories could grow more outlandish, Kusakabe ceased her train of thought by handing her a small container. "It's a salve," he explained, "to help numb the wounds a bit. Hibari-san can get a little…overzealous sometimes." He smiled, black eyes twinkling sympathetically.

Tsubame snorted. "A little? He beat me up because I screwed up his lunch order." Nonetheless, she accepted the balm, nodding her thanks.

"Technically," interjected the smooth voice that Tsubame had come to loathe, "I struck you because you failed to complete your duty." Hibari glided from the doorway to his desk, silent as a ghost and seemingly unaware of the glower attempting to burn holes into his back. "I bit you to death because you, herbivore, tried and failed to retaliate."

"The cafeteria was crowded," she grounded out. Considering she was still seated on the floor, arms crossed over chest, her pathetic attempt at intimidation was lost to all. She probably looked like a child throwing a temper tantrum instead. "Besides, when I joined the disciplinary committee yesterday, I did so because I wanted to, I don't know, enforce _discipline_ , rather than run errands and serve as a punching bag."

Hibari sneered down at her. "Those are stepping stones. The moment you're able to flawlessly fulfill those errands and take my hits, only then will you be promoted."

"Fine," she snapped, hopping to her feet and ignoring the screams of pain from her body. "Let's go."

Hibari's sadistic smirk marred his porcelain features as he rose from his throne. His blazer billowed ominously as he dashed over to her, much like that of a super-villain's. With a flick of his wrist, a tonfa materialised in his fists, and Tsubame's lips pulled back at the sight. Moments ago she had gazed at the weapon doubtfully, almost scathingly – who even owned a tonfa these days, let alone used one? Her initial ignorance and arrogance had led to her immediate downfall, however, and she learnt the hard way to never, ever underestimate Hibari Kyoya.

She skidded backwards as Hibari swooped towards her, barely dodging his strike. The movement caused her leg to bump into the couch and almost collide into the wary Kusakabe. Silently cursing the cramped space, she hastily searched for an exit.

Tsubame's distraction almost cost her her consciousness. She slammed her rear into the seat of the couch, Hibari's tonfa skimming the tip of her head. Her (shitty) glasses threatened to slip off and leave her half-blind, but she managed to force them into place. Ears ringing, the prey shot past her predator, thrusting her arm out in an attempt to catch his side. Hibari wasn't head of the DC for nothing, and he smoothly maneuvered to the left. Tsubame had been expecting nothing less, however, and quickly used his split-second delay to her advantage, escaping the confines of the narrow room and shooting out into the hallway.

Hibari was hot on her trail. He halted a metre or two from Tsubame, eying her panting form with a small smirk of amusement. "You're not fit for the disciplinary committee if you can't even handle such an small workout," he quipped, obliterating her pride.

Despite the rage writhing within her, Tsubame chose not to reply in favour of catching her breath. Her body was still taking the toll from her previous beat-down, and was in no condition to undergo another one. One of the open windows allowed a puff of air to enter the building, tousling Tsubame's ponytail and brushing against her bare skin. She inhaled the air, grateful for the tranquilising effect it had on her nerves.

"Since you're evidently inhibited," drawled her opponent, "I'll give you a handicap: If you manage to land one hit on me, you will be promoted from the position of lackey."

"Swear on it," she grunted, voice somewhat muffled as she pulled her jumper over her head. "Swear on your title as head."

Hibari frowned at the blatant scepticism, but complied nonetheless. "I swear on my title as head of the disciplinary commit—"

In hindsight, Tsubame probably should have waited until he had finished. The verbal contract would possess more weight that way, but then again, she'd lose the vital element of surprise – because, while Hibari was in the middle of his pledge, Tsubame made her move.

A blanket of clouds chose that moment to drift before the sun, choking off any and all sunlight. The hallway darkened considerably, and Tsubame used Mother Nature's gift to her advantage. She mustered all her strength into her arm, and, like a tightly coiled spring, released all the momentum in her limb as she thrust her jumper towards her opponent. The wind assisted her, the burst of air propelling forward both the woollen weapon and its owner.

Caught unaware by the sudden lack of light, Hibari didn't react until it was too late. He furiously clawed at the material inhibiting both his sight and hearing, the buffeting wind working against him. With a growl, the disoriented predator-turned-prey wrenched the jumper from his face, right before Tsubame slammed her fist into his gut.

A hysteric laugh bubbled in her throat, and she bit her tongue to prevent it from surfacing. Still, her lips split into a manic grin, which shrivelled up immediately as her victim glared at her with such intensity it was as if the sight alone would incinerate her.

With a face carefully devoid of any expression, Tsubame stretched her hand before the brooding figure. "No hard feelings," she declared, wary of allowing any pity or arrogance to trickle into her blank voice.

Hibari eyed the proffered hand and its owner with unbridled disgust. "That was foul play," he hissed, gripping his tonfa as if strangling the life out of it.

She shrugged nonchalantly, outstretched hand twitching. "All's fair in love and war. Besides, you underestimated me too much."

Silently, Hibari's pale hand inched forward.

The tension in Tsubame's shoulders unknotted, allowing her to sag with relief. The wind died down and the clouds parted, allowing the gentle sunlight to trickle onto her bare arms like liquid gold. Perhaps Hibari wasn't so petty after all.

But her relief was short-lived, for there was a flash of silver and, before Tsubame knew it, she was doubled over, pain exploding in her stomach. Disbelief seeped into her wide eyes as they met haughty, satisfied ones.

Hibari loomed over her, tonfa returning to the recesses of his coat with a twitch of his hand. The movement allowed the harsh sunlight to graze the blood-red cloth pinned to his sleeve, the gold, emboldened 'discipline' burning into Tsubame's dark eyes.

"Indeed," he noted. "All's fair in love and war."

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Yamamoto Takeshi didn't play baseball for the sake of keeping fit or to "look cool". He played the blessed sport, poured his heart and soul into it, because of one single factor: it made him happy – genuinely happy.

The euphoric game extracted thrilled grins and exhilarated smiles from his person as he dashed to and fro, his trusty bat shouting _bam_ as it smashed against the baseball, which hissed a _whoosh_ as it soared through the limitless blue sky, landing with a satisfied _thunk_ outside the cage. He loved baseball intensely because it forced both his mind and his body to focus on the now, and, no matter how temporarily, allowed him to concentrate on topics unrelated with his mom, or his dad, or his life. It was just him and the game. He loved it.

Lately, though…not so much. As the disheartening thought rudely butted into his mind, Yamamoto's grip on his bat loosened, and he watched it fly from his hands with a resigned sigh.

His now-empty fists clenched. Couldn't he do anything right? First it was his deteriorating baseball skills, then it was with consoling his father, assuring him that he alright, that he was happy – he couldn't even use his smiles anymore. He was being pelted with his own rainstorm, soaked to the bone with icy precipitation, but that was fine. What was not fine, however, was that others were being caught in his outpour: first his father, who was unfortunate enough to be nearby, and now Tsubame, a lone bystander forcibly whipped by the wayward barrage of raindrops.

Yamamoto suddenly found himself out of breath, and it wasn't because he'd been exercising all afternoon. No, this sort of breathlessness wasn't the good kind after an exhilarating workout – it was as if someone had delivered a swift blow straight into his gut.

Yamamoto staggered to the side, silently marvelling at how pathetic he was. He couldn't even protect his so-called friend from his so-called admirers. He had learnt everything from the girls' gossip – how the leader of his _fanclub_ had tracked down Tsubame and lured her away and then proceeded to give her both a verbal and physical beating. No one saw her for the rest of the day. And it was all his fault.

If he hadn't been such a stubborn brat and badgered her into coming over, none of this would have happened. She could've gotten a peaceful night's rest, gone to class on time, and avoid the entire encounter altogether. But he didn't do that, and now Tsubame…

Namimori's star baseball player grabbed the nearest ball and thrust it as hard as he could, hoping that his frustrations left with it. The teen immediately regretted his action when a loud smack and a sharp cry of "Ow!" soon followed.

Yamamoto raced towards his accidental victim, and spotted a familiar head of spiky brown hair. The brunette was in his class… Sawada Tsuna? Yeah, that was it. Though they were the same age, Yamamoto couldn't help but notice how tiny the other boy was. It was kind of fitting, considering his shy and reclusive demeanour. Still, it only took a baseball to the head to bring out someone's true side.

"Sorry about that," he said, pushing his lips into a smile.

Tsuna paused in nursing his head and peered up at him. Instead of the angry or indignant shouts he had been anticipating, though, the injured boy asked, "Are you okay, Yamamoto?"

Surprise washed over his features, clearing away the dirty, fake smile tainting his lips. Exasperation soon settled in its place. "Why are you asking _me_?" he demanded, the words coming out more harshly than he intended. Regret nestled into him as Tsuna visibly recoiled. "It's just that…I'm the one who hurt you," he said hastily. As if he did anything else but hurt others nowadays. "I should be the one asking that, not you."

"Oh," murmured Tsuna. He was silently for a painfully awkward moment before blurting out, "I'm sure you had a lot on your mind. Do you, um, want to talk about it…?"

That certainly made Yamamoto pause. He found himself staring at the fidgety boy. Did he want to talk about it? Of course he did. His anxieties and frustration sat like a dead weight in his body, slowly but surely dragging him down.

But he was sick of burdening others. They were his problems, and only his. His lips twitched into a pained smile and he opened his mouth to gently but firmly decline Tsuna's offer, when the boy—probably sensing his discomfort—choked out a jittery laugh.

"Right, sorry," he mumbled, red-faced. "Of course you wouldn't want discuss something so private with me. Sorry for being so nosy, Yama—"

And that was all it took for Yamamoto to start spilling the concerns eating away at him. Though surprised by how forthcoming he suddenly was, Yamamoto figured it all made sense, in a way – Tsuna just had this comforting aura around him, inviting people to talk and confess their secrets without fear of reprimand or judgement. He was that kind of guy.

A frown crossed Tsuna's face, but it wasn't a disapproving one; it was thoughtful. "You think Tsubame-san is avoiding you?" he repeated.

He nodded stiffly, gaze firmly locked on his beaten and battered shoes. "What if those girls did or said something to scare her off? She always seems so lonely, and it's my fault."

"That's not true," said Tsuna, his voice firm with conviction. The notion was so foreign to Yamamoto that he couldn't help but look up in slight surprise. Tsuna immediately flinched at the sudden attention. "I mean, Tsubame-san doesn't seem like a very social person in the first place, you know? And," he added, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, "she's in the disciplinary committee now. Well, sort of…"

Yamamoto let out a breath he didn't know he had been withholding. "You mean all those wounds are…?"

Tsuna nodded, grimacing. "She said it was to get stronger, I think."

"Oh. When did she tell you this?"

"Um, my mom kinda ran into her, and then dragged her over for dinner," he admitted, sighing. Judging from the way Tsuna's body seemed to deflate, Yamamoto deduced that that wasn't a fun night. "Anyway," he added, perking up somewhat, "please don't blame yourself for anything, Yamamoto. Tsubame-san…seems strong."

The way Tsuna looked distinctly uncomfortable was not lost on Yamamoto , but he knew better than to comment on it. So Yamamoto smiled—and it was a much easier, more genuine act this time—and thanked Tsuna, clapping him on the back and accidentally sending him toppling to the ground with a strangled "Gah!" Despite himself, Yamamoto chuckled. His good humour was infectious, and Tsuna began laughing with him.

By the time they parted ways, the sun had set and the sky had cleared, and Yamamoto felt as if a momentous burden was lifted from his shoulders.


	5. Of Warnings and Weaklings

V

 _Of Warnings and Weaklings_

It was common for people to have bad days. Whether it ranged from the typical tardiness or misplaced belonging to the atypical crap-I-pissed-off-the-disciplinary-committee-and-now-they're-going-to-throttle-me, it happened to everyone and anyone. The thought should have reassured Tsuna, except for the fact that he had been having a bad _month_.

If asked, he'd probably say it all began that fateful night his mom had brought a girl over. Tsuna remembered it with startling clarity, the disconcerting evening having been embedded into his mind due to its sheer weirdness.

The sky was a lovely blood orange – an angry color that should have warned Tsuna about what was to come. The air was cool, bordering on chill, and the stars had just begun to peek out when a door slammed open and his mom announced, "Tsu-kun! I'm back!"

His rumbling stomach was pleased by her timely arrival, and he hurried down the stairs. Well, more like stumbled quickly down those traitorous steps that were just waiting to trip him up. His voice rang with delight as he called out, "Welcome back, Mom— _eh?!"_ before it twisted into surprise at the sight of the girl beside her. Stunned, he lost focus, naturally, tumbled down the stairs in an undignified heap.

"Honestly, Tsu-kun…" Mom sighed, her disappointment clear as day. "There you go, embarrassing me again."

" _The feeling's mutual,"_ he wanted to groan. Instead, the uncoordinated boy busied himself by plucking his aching body off the floorboards.

It wasn't like he _wanted_ to trip over his own two feet all the time, much less do it to mortify his mother. He sighed, knowing he'd never voice his thoughts aloud; indirectly embarrassing her was bad enough, but purposefully hurting her? No way.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Mom claimed, tittering anxiously. "My no-good son, well, as you can see…"

Then again…

Once upright, Tsuna noticed the way Tsubame's face—even without her glasses, her perpetual glare made it obvious who she was—was pinched up. At first he assumed, with a sigh, that he was the cause of the evident distaste, but upon closer inspection he realized she was frowning at his mother.

"There's no need to apologize," she said. She sounded as though she was trying to restrain her anger, strangely enough. "I'm pretty clumsy myself."

Right. Tsuna highly doubted that, but Tsubame's cool words dispersed mild tension, much like a fresh burst of air during a summer's day. He brightened considerably, and his mom excused herself to attend to the dinner, her own smile much more genuine compared to her previous twitch.

Tsuna's pyjamas rustled audibly as he shifted uneasily. "So, uh, why are you here, Tsubame-san?"

When Tsubame stared at him with those unnerving ebony eyes of hers, Tsuna's mouth clamped shut. He wished with all his might that he could swallow back the words that had just spilled out from his mouth. Just when he was sure she was going to slap, punch, kick, or execute a combination of all three, she surprised him with a minuscule smile.

"You…are definitely your mother's son," was her only comment. When he peered at her inquisitively, she obligingly explained. "You both ramble. A lot."

"Ah…" Tsuna smiled nervously, running a hand through that mane of his. He could certainly picture his mom babbling on away about her favorite topics: her busy day and her no-good son. "Thanks, I guess?"

"No problem, I guess," she quipped, eyes crinkling in amusement. "You also make lasting first impressions by running into people."

He felt his eyes widen in realization, before cringing in shame. "Haha…yeah, sorry about that. I'm guessing she dragged you here as some sort of apology?"

"She kind of sent my dinner hurtling to the cold, hard ground," she admitted. "Does she do that a lot?"

"Not reall—well, there was that time with that dog…" Tsuna trailed off, the mere memory inducing shudders. It was no wonder he was wary of canines, after that irate Chihuahua decided to maul him to compensate for the way his mother accidentally knocked over its bowl. And she called _him_ a klutz.

Tsubame gave him a look that he could only label as skeptical amazement. "Your mother is a rather generous person," she noted. "Even if…"

When Tsubame didn't finish, he glanced at her curiously and a tad defensively. "Even if?" he probed, leaning forward in anticipation. But his nagging interest would have to wait, for his mom chose that moment to declare, "Dinner's ready!" and Tsubame slipped from his probing gaze post-haste.

Throughout the meal, however, he maintained his inquisitive stare on Tsubame's passive features. The exchange didn't go unnoticed by his birth-giver, as she adopted a curious look of her own in the midst of interrogating their guest. Tsuna's gaze searched Tsubame, but the girl in question merely flicked him an irritated scowl before chewing her food hurriedly.

Despite her efforts, Tsubame was the last to finish, and the Sawadas waited patiently for her to put down her chopsticks. There was a definite _click_ as the metal apparatus settled onto the wooden table, and Tsuna jumped into action at the declarative sound.

"So what did you mean by—?"

"I'll assist you with the dishes, Nana-san."

His mother's eyes fluttered in surprise, taken aback by the eager children before her. She soon recovered, and brandished that famous sugary smile of hers. "Oh, no, Tsubame-chan. I can't force my task onto you."

But Tsubame would hear none of it, much to Tsuna's exasperation. "That's okay," she said, already making her way to spotless sink, hands filled with porcelain bowls and utensils. "I do my own dishes at home, so it's no big deal."

Tsuna resigned himself to collecting the rest of the dishes as his mother said, "Oh?" Her light voice buzzed with pleasant surprise. "Your parents are so lucky to have you! They must be really grateful to have a useful child with them, no?"

Tsubame's hands twitched in response to the thinly-veiled barb aimed at him, while he valiantly ignored the way his heart seemed to be seizing up. His fists clenched around the plate he was holding, the glass utensil creaking in protest.

The knife Tsubame was holding shifted slightly, glinting maliciously as it caught a beam of light. "No, not really," she said softly, her voice almost drowned out by the rushing of the tap water. "My parents aren't around anymore."

Tsuna's stomach did an uncomfortable flip, his dinner stirring around mutinously.

His mom had similar sentiments. "Oh," she murmured. She placed a consoling hand on Tsubame, who stiffened immediately. "I should have known, dear. I mean, I had my suspicions when I saw those wounds on your body, but I didn't think that your situation was like this and—"

"Wait," Tsubame bit out, the single word laced with puzzlement. "What do—? Oh. No, no, I misspoke; my parents aren't dead, they're just in the city. They're well and healthy and aren't likely to die of natural causes any time soon."

He might have been imagining it, but over the relieved sigh he exhaled, Tsuna could have sworn he heard a twinge of bitterness coloring Tsubame's voice.

"And these…" She nodded to her arms, which were mottled with bruises. "I've joined the disciplinary committee, so I need some toughening up, I guess."

"Oh," Mom repeated, though this time it was uttered in understanding. She giggled at the slight mishap. "That's a relief!"

Tsubame merely hummed in response, and Tsuna couldn't help but note the way she was strangling the knife she was rinsing. With an audible gulp, he slowly edged out of the room. His efforts were futile, though, for his mom immediately dragged him back in with firm instructions to escort the potential-psychopath home. He shot her an incredulous look—really, Tsubame would be more than fine without him serving as her ball-and-chain—but relented under the stubborn stare he received in response.

Where was _his_ share of tenacity? So unfair.

It was with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart that Tsuna dragged himself out of the house. He tried to look at the bright side – at least he had more than enough time to interrogate his accomplice about her slip of the tongue.

Fighting off the instinctive fear that accompanied him whenever he took a stroll in the dark—which he tried to avoid at all costs—Tsuna follow Tsubame's gaze upwards. The moon hovered drearily, feebly projecting slivers of silver light that tried to penetrate the foggy atmosphere. He was saddened to note that the stars were hidden from sight, obscured by a suffocating blanket of clouds and the pollution from the light and gasses alike emanating from town. The sky was barely visible, barricaded as it was.

Just as the thought drifted through his mind, a sharp gust of wind whipped through the streets. While Tsuna normally appreciated the season of autumn, its sporadic breezes left something to be desired. Meanwhile, Tsubame's nose jutted out curiously, and she glanced at her surroundings as if to pinpoint anything out-of-place. It reminded him of a bloodhound tracking a scent, actually.

His hair stood on end as she whipped her head around, only to discover her anticipation and his fright was all for naught. The source of the noise was a cat, which hopped through the shrubs and stared right at them. Something about the creature gave Tsuna a strange feeling – since when did cats have amber eyes that practically glowed in the dark?

He later learned that it hadn't been a cat at all.

"You can go home now, if you want," Tsubame said suddenly. "I'm almost to my apartment, so…"

Tsuna was tempted, but he shook his head. "What if someone jumps you the rest of the way? You're a girl, Tsubame-san, and something might happ…"

But he never finished, for he was pinned with a glare so furious he regretted ever leaving his house. He swallowed nervously.

His eyes flew wide open, as did his mouth. "N-Not that girls are weaker than boys, or anything! It's just, well, you're i-injured, and all, so…" he improvised, backtracking hastily.

Her eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. The grimace marring her lips told Tsuna that she knew he was lying, but he sincerely regretted his words. Never again would he doubt her—or any other girl's—strength. Tsuna could practically picture a slap to the face and a kick to the groin already.

Tsubame sighed in resignation. "Yeah, okay. Sorry about that, Tsuna," she murmured, her hand kneading the knot from her shoulder. Without meeting his eyes, she resumed her trek to her apartment. "Guess I'm still sore after what happened with your mother."

Tsuna hurried to match her swift speed. "Oh, yeah. That. What…?"

"I don't like how she treats you," she said flatly. "Calling you no-good like that, right before your face. It pisses me off."

He inhaled sharply. Was she…concerned? About him? Tsuna couldn't believe his ears. Elation welled up within him, at such a harsh speed and intensity that he could feel his heart fluttering and his stomach bubbling.

Before ascending the staircase to her floor, Tsubame swivelled around and came to a stop before her companion. "Tsuna, listen," she ordered, penetrating dark eyes probing his alarmed ones. "Do you enjoy people walking over you as if you're garbage?"

 _What the—?_ "N-No! Of course not."

"Then why do you let them? Are you a masochist?"

"What? No!" he spluttered. "It's just… I don't know. I'm too weak to stop them. I don't expect you to know," he added, a touch spitefully. "since you pretty much shine with confidence."

Tsuna half-expected the proud girl to throttle him then and there. Instead, an odd smile twisted her lips, and he found himself wishing she was shooting him a glare instead. "Yeah, I seem sure of myself, don't I? I'm strong, right?" she murmured, running a hand over her wounded arm.

Were it any other time, in some other circumstance, he would have pitied her. But Tsuna was busy dealing another feeling – something uglier. "Why do you even care, Tsubame-san?" he found himself asking.

"Why, huh?" The grip on her arm tightened, and even then it still trembled. "You…remind me of someone I knew, Tsuna. Someone who was always beaten down, even by their own blood. I wanted to help you. But I guess that isn't my place to decide." Without another word, Tsubame turned around and walked away.

Tsuna stood silently for a few moments, watching the girl's retreating back. Once she was lost to the shadows, he forced himself to walk away and return home, rather than storm back to her and blurt out the thoughts buzzing restlessly in his mind.

The hoot of an owl startled him from his thoughts. A brisk breeze blew past, dispersing some of the cloud cover and allowing Tsuna a glimpse of the night sky. A lone star winked at him before the fog shadowed it once more.

Tsuna never really paid attention to the sky much, as his head was always bowed towards the ground. But that would soon change. And there was only one person to thank for that, he supposed.

Tsuna continued his way home with a small smile, both the heavens and his mind just a little clearer.

It was a good thing, too, because his next day was hell. And so were the impending weeks. Who on earth employed a toddler as a home tutor, anyway?


	6. Of Insomnia and Idiots

**A/N:** I can't believe it's been four months since the last update! Could've sworn it was four weeks max. I hate college.

Also! I've gotten a review stating the timeline of this fic is strange, but I'm following the anime, not the manga. Sorry for the confusion!

* * *

VI

 _Of Insomnia and Idiots_

For the life of her, Tsubame couldn't sleep a wink that night. The optimistic half of her mind tried to convince her that her insomnia was because of her sporadic naps (fainting episodes) throughout the day. The realistic half, however, bluntly destroyed such feeble fantasies as easily as Hibari did her consciousness. Really, her lack of shut-eye was due to the fact that she kept replaying the dismal events of today in her head.

A part of her toyed with the idea of hunting down Hibari so that he could kick her back into dreamland, but her throbbing temple quickly dismissed the ridiculous notion.

She _knew_ she shouldn't have run her mouth like that – she made the mistake of glancing at Tsuna. His perpetually stunned expression had clouded with uncertainty, but the slightest sliver of warmth penetrated through the puzzlement, and it was directed at _her_. There was no way she could have mustered the wherewithal to ignore _that_. So she dug her grave.

Sighing for the umpteenth time that day—a rather impressive feat considering the sun had just risen—Tsubame decided that sleep would be futile. She rolled out of her futon with all the grace of an inebriated ballerina, narrowly avoiding poking her eye out with the dart she had been practicing her aim with several hours ago. She flicked it across the room apathetically.

Carefully navigating her way through the cluttered mess that served as her floor, Tsubame managed to reach the living room without a scratch. Well, sans the ones from the other day.

Upon closer inspection, she was pleased to note that they were almost gone. There were still faint blotches, but she hoped they would vanish as the day progressed. The stiffness of her body was rectified with a few stretches. Feeling awake and refreshed, she made a spontaneous decision to go for a run. It would certainly kill an hour or so, and she'd have more than enough time to get ready for school.

By the time she was done with her morning routine, the clock indicated that it was five. In the goddamn morning. Tsubame squeezed her weary eyes shut for a moment before making her way out of her sparsely furnished apartment and into the open air.

Dawn and dusk were her favourite times of the day. The multitude of warm hues spilt into the sky was always a breath-taking sight, no matter how often she saw it. A small smile wriggled onto her lips as her eyes ran over the shades of pink, orange and yellow that came together and made even Namimori look like the charming, picturesque town it was supposed to be.

Tsubame slapped her cheeks and closed her door, muttering an unanswered, "I'm leaving." She set off, but not before ensuring that her steps were soundless so as not to disturb the neighbours.

She passed by the empty apartment beside hers, only to discover the glaring red 'For lease' sign had been replaced by a cheerful yellow 'sold'. Idly, she wondered if the new neighbour would pay her and the other inhabitants of the block a visit, as she had done previously.

When she broke into a brisk jog, however, all straggling thoughts were tossed aside. Her mind remained gloriously blank as she dashed by block after block, the only thing keeping her grounded was the wind as it rushed through her thin sweater and sent her ponytail flying.

Sooner than she preferred to admit, Tsubame began panting. Her sides screamed at her to stop, but her mind urged her to proceed.

As she neared the corner of a particularly large building, she could hear something behind her. Focusing slightly, she discovered it was the sound of someone panting. The noise grew louder and louder, and Tsubame concentrated her entire focus on it. Was she being followed? Panic began to settle into her system just as she collided into what felt like a brick wall.

Both the front and the back of her head exploded with pain as the collision sent her tumbling to the ground. Tsubame found herself far too acquainted with the grounds of Namimori for someone who had only arrived less than a week ago.

"I'm extremely sorry!" cried a voice above her.

Wait. Brick walls couldn't talk.

Considering it was Namimori, it was highly possible. Still, the small, undamaged part of Tsubame's mind told her in a somewhat shaky voice, "No, that is not a brick wall. It's just a very muscular man."

Tsubame tilted her head up, and the simple action elicited a spark of pain. She found herself staring into a pair of frazzled grey eyes. Huh. So she really had crashed into someone. The aforementioned wall-turned-man thrust a bandaged hand at her, and she gripped it with no small amount of trepidation. Still, she was pulled up surprisingly gently for such a brusque-looking boy.

Only when Tsubame's feet were perched firmly on the solid ground did she realise that her nose was on fire. Gingerly, she nudged it with her finger. When pain seared at her touch, she muttered an apt, "Ow."

"You're hurt!" bellowed the perpetrator. So not only did he want to break her nose, he wanted to deafen her too? "I'm really, extremely sorry! We need to go to the hospital!"

"Ah," Tsubame said belatedly. "I'm fine. It's not broken or anything; still smarting from the impact, I guess." She paused, feeling something damp rush through the damaged appendage. "Oh, and it's bleeding."

More screaming. Tsubame winced, hoping the nearby neighbours wouldn't charge out of their houses and demand to see who was disturbing the peace. The loudest person she had even met was now unwinding the bandages from his hand, and Tsubame blinked owlishly at the myriad of lacerations and bruises decorating his previously-covered knuckles. But he didn't seem to notice it at all; instead, he gently positioned it under her nose, effectively stopping the blood from flowing straight into her mouth.

"Thanks," she murmured, the word somewhat dampened by the bruised nose, the blood, and the bandages.

"It's the least I can do after smashing into you like that," he said sombrely. His chapped lips pulled into a frown, grey eyes burning with regret.

Somehow, the expression seemed very odd on him. Though Tsubame had known him for a total of three minutes, she could tell that smiles suited him far better.

"It's okay," she assured him. "It's kind of a habit of mine to first meet people by tumbling into them." She raised a shoulder in a half-shrug, attempting to ignore the prickly feeling on her face. "This isn't the first time I've been injured as a result."

The boy before her adopted a curious look. "That's extremely extreme."

Another half-shrug. "I live an extreme life. I'm Kishino Tsubame, by the way."

"I'm Sasagawa Ryohei! Leader of Namimori's extreme boxing club!"

 _We have a boxing club?_ "Nice to meet you, I suppose. I'm going to sit down." Using the closest thing she could grab—a real wall this time—Tsubame slowly settled onto the ground.

It was only several seconds later, wherein the boxer chose to crash beside her, did Tsubame finally register his words. "Sasagawa?" she echoed. "Do you have a sister?"

"Yep!"

"…And what's her name?"

"Kyoko! And she's extremely cute! Did you know that—"

And so Ryohei rambled on and on. Tsubame tuned out the moment the girl's name was uttered, using the time instead to check on her nose. Oh, good; the bleeding had stopped. Pleased, she scrunched the soiled bandages into a ball, nose occasionally twitching.

"—and pineapple marshmallows, which I think is pretty extreme! Oh, hey! The blood's gone!" Ryohei shoved a hand into the pocket of his shorts and, after a little digging, successfully procured a white bandage. Tsubame watched curiously as he peeled its back off, but was soon taken aback when the white object approached her face.

Mind still addled from the morning's events—oh god, the day had just started and she was already sporting a battered nose—she barely had time to flinch before the bandage was applied onto her nose.

"There!" chirped Ryohei, grinning. Tsubame must have been more dazed than she thought, because it looked like his teeth was _shining_ in the sunlight. "Now your nose will definitely heal!"

She delicately patted the edge of the bandage, somewhat put-out that she couldn't remove it without causing extreme pain. "Thanks," she grumbled.

"You're welcome. Now we look the same!" Ryohei all but punched his own nose, where his own little bandage sat. "It suits you extremely well!"

She smiled, the bandage crinkling slightly at the movement. "Thanks," she repeated, far more warmly.

Ryohei beamed in response, and Tsubame was perturbed to realise that she couldn't dislike this boy, no matter how sore her nose was. He was just too damn sunny.

When Tsubame returned home, with Ryohei accompanying her to ensure she didn't end up fainting, the sun had fully risen. The ball of light cleared the clouds enshrouding the sky from the previous night, allowing the blue skies to smile down on the people of Namimori. She would have preferred to bask in the warmth of the sun and head to school while enjoying the wondrous weather, but the moment she set foot in her apartment, a wave of drowsiness washed over her.

School wouldn't start for another half-hour or so – plenty of time to get some sorely needed sleep. With that thought in mind, Tsubame stumbled over to her bed, and promptly slept for the next five hours.

* * *

By the time Tsubame was back in the world of the living, the sun hung high in the sky, beaming down at her cheerfully. She didn't have to glance at the clock to know what time it was – clearly, it was way past morning. And so, as realisation dawned on her, one succinct thought made its way into her head: "Well, shit."

She eyed the nearby dart contemplatively before the knocking on her door reminded her of why she had woken. Smoothing out her hair and combing through her bangs, the weary girl made her way to the door, swaggering like a drunken sailor.

Sighing, Tsubame eased the door open, hoping it wasn't another door-to-door salesman. For once, however, the heavens took pity on her, and sent down a mildly attractive teen to her doorstep instead. The boy before her stared at her in flat disinterest, his condescending emerald eyes practically begging for a punch. His mop of silver hair glinted in the sunlight, seemingly intent in blinding her. She did her best not to reciprocate his scowl, but her efforts were in vain.

"Hey," he grunted. "I'm Gokudera Hayato, and I moved in next door. I'll be in your care, or whatever."

The hand gripping the handle twitched, and Tsubame was sorely tempted to slam the door in his face. "Kishino Tsubame," she said. "I'm new myself, so I doubt you'll be in my care much. Or whatever."

Green eyes narrowed. Gokudera crossed his arms, his silver necklace jingling in response. It, too, joined Gokudera's hair in their attempt to blind her. "Are you mocking me?" he growled.

"That depends." Tsubame found herself mimicking Gokudera's stance, arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the doorway. "Are you being rude?"

Now, Tsubame wasn't a _total_ idiot. She realised that antagonising someone who literally shared a wall with her wasn't exactly a bright idea. Even now, she could picture him purposely kicking the wall and shooting around his apartment randomly throughout the day, if only to annoy her. But he looked so painfully easy to pick on.

Besides, she liked to consider messing with him as a form of payback for waking her. And no one woke her up, not unless there was an emergency. Or Hibari was at her doorstep. Life or death things, really.

"So what if I'm being rude? What're you gonna do about it, brat?" His lips curled into a sneer. "Cry to daddy?"

Brat? "Seeing as my father's halfway across the country, I'd rather hope not," she drawled.

Gokudera's irritation was replaced with a look of curiosity, and some other emotion that made Tsubame distinctly uncomfortable. "You live by yourself?" he inferred, eyes quickly scanning her barren apartment.

Tsubame inched her door closed the slightest margin. "Yes," she said cautiously.

"Guess we're in the same boat, then."

She was digesting his comment just as she noticed something. Her eyes widened. "You're from Italy?"

It was his turn to adopt a wary look. "How did you know?"

"I have a cousin who's Japanese-Italian. I was wondering why your accent sounded so familiar."

Gokudera's shoulders remained knotted with tension, as if expecting hidden assailants to burst out and begin attacking him. His sharp eyes darted back and forth anxiously.

She noted his peculiar reaction and filed it away for later inspection. "What brings you to Namimori?" she asked, curiosity forcing her tongue.

He shrugged. "What about you?"

She mirrored his shrug. Her parents had flipped a coin to decide their daughter's destination, and heads (Namimori) had won. Silently, she wondered how her life would have turned out had the coin selected tails. Shimon was apparently nice this time of year.

Tsubame decided to intervene before the situation grew too awkward. "Well, if you come across a spider or mouse you need me to deal with, you know where to find me."

"You're not exactly witty, are you?"

This time she really did slam the door in his face.


	7. Of Strength and Strain

**A/N:** Angst warning!

* * *

VII

 _Of Strength and Strain_

By the time Tsubame slid the classroom door open, the bell sang, signalling the commencement of lunch. While the other students rejoiced at the much-desired break, Tsubame sighed in dismay. Along with the day she had managed to sleep through, she had skipped another handful of days, all for the sake of the disciplinary committee. According to Hibari, her abysmal attendance and education were inconsequential in light of the all-important committee. Tsubame kept those words in mind as she watched Hibari and his subordinates spent their precious time bullying other students under the name of rule enforcement.

The entire morning was squandered on hunting down wayward students. Her designated areas mostly consisted of the female bathrooms, which the committee was wary of entering, much to her amusement. She wondered who oversaw that zone prior to her admittance. Hibari definitely would've avoided the duty altogether and ordered his subordinates to attend to it, whether out of embarrassment or disgust, she didn't know.

Man, she'd pay good money to witness him flustered. Every yen would be worth it.

Despite the pesky tasks forced onto her, Tsubame knew it was only time until she officially joined the committee – blazer, badge and all (but hopefully sans the pompadour). She began to eye the first two items with a forlorn sort of expression. The mere thought of it sent delighted shivers down her back.

Her presence remained undetected as she slipped into the raucous classroom. With no small amount of irritation, Tsubame located the source of the ruckus – it was Yamamoto and his fan-base, both girls and boys alike.

Tsubame's fingers hovered over her cheek, where the ghost of the scratch could be seen faintly. At any rate, if they had the gall to attack her again – well, then, she'd just have to showcase the results of her training.

The sadistic satisfaction thrumming in her veins grew stagnant at the sound of a squeal.

"Does it hurt, Takeshi-kun?" a girl cried, only to be admonished by another girl, who growled, "Of course it hurts – the arm's broken, for god's sake."

A strangled noise wretched free from Tsubame's throat before she could silence it. Fortunately, no one had heard it over the clamour of the crowd surrounding Yamamoto – _who had broken his arm_.

Tsubame had a half a mind to charge through the throng of admirers and provide Yamamoto with a fierce scolding. It would certainly take his mind off of the pain in his arm, as he'd be too busy trying not to go deaf. But she knew it wasn't her place. After all, barring their first meeting, the only time she had properly talked with him was when they had accidentally encountered each other in the library.

He'd been returning their— the book while she'd been perusing the shelves for a text on anatomy. The curt conversation was more than a little uncomfortable for her, what with Yamamoto's evident eagerness and invasive friendliness. _Hey, how are you? What's the disciplinary committee like? If Hibari goes overboard, let me know and I'll have a word with him. Wanna come over to my place later? Pops misses you_. After declining as politely as she could, Tsubame had scurried away and they never spoke much again, aside from the casual greeting at school.

What? Avoiding him? No way.

Okay, so she was. Could anyone blame her? After her harassment from his unruly admirers, it was kind of necessary to avoid the indirect source of her mistreatment. Then again, if Yamamoto deemed it safe to attempt to bridge the gaping hole between them – well, she could have easily taken the risk and plunged forward. But something was holding her back, and it wasn't the fear of another showdown – and after dealing with Hibari and Kusakabe, she had a feeling she could take them on regardless. It was a different kind of fear altogether, and not one she could tackle easily.

The sobering thought forced Tsubame to retreat each and every time. Unfortunately, as if sensing her discomfort, Yamamoto's pained eyes pinpointed her on the outskirts of the crowd. His lips twitched into a hopeful smile, inviting and welcoming his friend and ready to assure her that he was alright, that she didn't need to worry, especially not when he had such a thoughtful friend by his side.

Upon catching glimpse of his expectant expression, however, her stomach tossed and turned. Time seemed to slow, their surroundings dimmed, and it was as if two spotlights glared down at Tsubame's uneasy form and Yamamoto's anxious one.

Tsubame forced her gaze away from his and, like the coward she was, fled.

As she ran from the suffocating classroom, she did her best to banish the image of Yamamoto's brown eyes widening with hurt and betrayal. It didn't work.

The haunting gaze seemed to follow her as she dashed into the library. It was the perfect hiding place, as students rarely dropped by. Even now only a handful of people wandered about, most of which were librarians who paid her no mind. Tsubame settled herself into a familiar corner, plucking her adventure novel from her bag and prying it open. Her hands shook the entire time.

Despite the intensity of her scowl, none of the words transferred itself into her frazzled mind. A majority of it floated through her eyes and out her ears, and the only ones she managed to register rang of "friendship". Frustrated at both the book and herself, Tsubame tossed the innocent novel to the side, only to have it accidentally hit someone in the process.

"Ow!" yelped an unfortunately familiar voice.

Tsubame's groan chorused with Tsuna's as the injured boy approached her. Peeved, she crammed herself against the wall even further, feeling much like a cornered animal. Tsuna's lips quivered into an encouraging smile as he knelt before her.

She clenched her hands, ignoring the sharp pain of her nails digging into flesh. Better hers than Tsuna's, at any rate. He had suffered enough from her book-toss, and—judging by the way he massaged his scalp—it had collided with his head. Rather than apologising, Tsubame did the opposite; she was in no mood to play nice today.

"What do you want?" she bit out, folding into herself even more. She was still bitter over how Tsuna had lashed out at her the other night.

The mousy boy maintained a safe distance from her as he sat down. "I-I had to find you. Otherwise I'd be suffering at the hands of a demon baby," he said, visibly cringing at his own words.

"A-Anyway," he continued when Tsubame responded with nothing but that creepy stare of hers, "why are you here, Tsubame-san? I mean, it's a library so you'd come here to read, I guess, but you didn't seem to into your book." Tentatively, he handed Tsubame back her paperback novel, thanking the lord that it wasn't a hardcover. When she accepted it with barely a grimace, Tsuna continued, feeling fractionally less nervous. "Shouldn't you be with Yamamoto? I mean, seeing how you're friends and all."

Tsuna swallowed audibly when Tsubame tightened her grip on the flimsy book in her hands. "We're _not_ friends. I don't _want_ or _need_ friends," she snapped, hands trembling as she strangled the life out of her novel.

But Tsuna was curious. And when he was curious, he began to blurt out his thoughts. "Why are you so against having friends?"

With a jolt, he realised he had just signed his own death wish. Well, if he was going to go out, he might as well do so with a bang. Feeling the same rashness he experienced when Reborn shot him with a Dying Will bullet, he said, "You should feel lucky people want to be friends with you, when you're so…unsociable." His voice trembled at the last word, and though he knew he was going to die in the next few moments, he was pacified with the knowledge that he wouldn't retain any last regrets.

The blow never came. Instead, Tsubame sighed. "I wasn't always like this, you know," she informed him. "Believe it or not, I used to be friendly and talkative. I wore my heart on my sleeve; I poured my all into my friendships. And you know what I got in return?"

Her throat grew dry and hoarse as she whispered, "I got a knife in my back and through my heart."

Later, as Tsubame reflected the incident, she wondered why she had said what she was about to say next. Perhaps it was because Tsuna's words pushed her off the edge, or because she knew he wouldn't judge her, no matter what was said. Perhaps she had seen genuine concern in his eyes, which would betray any lie he had the audacity to utter. Perhaps—and this was the most accurate, if frightening, conclusion of them all—she simply knew she could trust Tsuna with anything and everything.

Her body began to slump as the pent-up frustration gradually dissipated. In its place was a heavy sadness. She loosened her grip on Tsuna and looked away before she could spot the pity no doubt alight in his eyes. "I gave my best friend a shoulder to lean on, to cry on. Yet when I asked for a small favour in return, you know what he said? _It's not my fault, and it's not my responsibility_." Her tone was as hard and brittle as a wintry breeze as she recited the line, jaw clenched in suppressed rage.

Slowly, Tsuna began to rise, bare elbows digging into the stiff grey carpet. "Tsubame-san…"

But Tsubame shook her head. "That wasn't the worst of it. I mean, if it was just one person, I could've brushed them off and pretended like they never existed. But when I whined to the others, they just stared at me. They said nothing, like they were judging me… And that's why I decided that there was no point," she said curtly. "They're as good as dead to me now."

An oppressive silence descended, its sheer pressure threatening to strangle Tsuna. Around them, the library was quieter than usual, as if he and Tsubame were the only ones left in the room. Tsubame shot up, backing away and giving Tsuna some much-needed room. Her hands ached from the rough treatment, and she focused on massaging the cramps away, refusing to raise her head.

Tsuna was visibly struggling to allocate the right words. Finally, as the seconds ticked by painfully, he murmured, "I…can't sympathise, because I never had any friends before."

"Consider yourself lucky," she muttered.

"Tsubame-san, you're afraid of getting hurt again, right?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued in the bravest voice he could muster, "But that's exactly what you're doing to Yamamoto. You're hurting him."

Tsubame's head snapped up, eyes wide and lips parted in shock. A denial was on the tip of her tongue, but there was a definite ring of truth in Tsuna's words.

Yamamoto had been nothing but kind to her, right from day one. Reaching for her book, feeding her, clothing her, among other things… As the images and memories flashed through her mind in quick succession, Tsubame felt her entire body shake. She clawed at her ponytail like a life-line, gnawing on her lower lip with enough force to draw blood. Her heart was thundering wildly, as if threatening to explode straight out of her chest then and there.

"Tsuna?"

"Yeah?" he asked hesitantly.

There was no sign of disgust, no condescension in his voice, and for that, Tsubame was grateful. "Could you leave, please? I need to be alone."

Tsuna nodded obligingly. Before he left her sight, though, he paused. His face contorted as he debated whether or not he should say what was on his mind, and Tsubame waited patiently for him to decide. Ultimately, his audacity won over his hesitancy, and his next words became embedded into her mind for the rest of her life.

"Tsubame-san… I don't really have any experience in this, or anything, but those people you used to associate with – I don't think they're true friends. Just, just try to remember that, okay?"

For the first time in years, Tsubame wanted to cry.


	8. Of Friendship and Fangirls

VIII

 _Of Friends and Fangirls_

Despite evidence to the contrary, Tsubame wasn't fond of brooding. She made it a point to try and get through the day with a – well, not a _positive_ attitude, but one that was mildly optimistic. And now, she needed to make amends. With both herself and, more importantly, Yamamoto.

After slapping her cheeks to clear her mind of any brewing clouds, Tsubame dashed outside the library and towards the classroom. Despite her mad journey, she felt oddly serene. The fierce gales of her heart had, after several months, finally mellowed into gentle breezes.

Suddenly, there was a roar from outside. Tsubame skidded to a stop immediately, the harsh screeching of her shoes against the polished tiles falling on deaf ears – because on the other side of the window, two boys came crashing down from the sky. The first was a petrified Yamamoto, followed by a _half-naked Tsuna?!_ And was his head on _fire_?

Once the shock had petered slightly, Tsubame whipped around to the nearest exit. She silently prayed to each and every deity she knew, hoping that the idiots were safe and that she had been hallucinating. She groaned, feeling a headache coming on.

Heart pounding and chest heaving, she thrust the exit open with a _bang_. Her feet lead her to the approximate area the two would have landed, and she was stunned at what she found. Her mind had concocted various possibilities, most of them involving blood and splattered entrails, several bones jutting out and lots of screaming. But what she found instead was perhaps more jarring than anything she could have imagined.

Tsuna and Yamamoto were sitting comfortably on the dirt, laughing and chatting as if they hadn't just fallen from a damn building. Needless to say, Tsubame was thoroughly bewildered, not to mention irritated at being left out of the loop.

"What…?" she mumbled intelligently. The boys turned to her, their grins dimming into uncertain smiles. Tsubame barely registered Tsuna in his half-naked glory. "I didn't know you two were friends," she said cautiously. The only time Tsuna had mentioned Yamamoto around Tsubame was in the library just now, and the tallest of the trio was currently tight-lipped, which didn't suit his colourful persona.

"Ah…" The hesitation in Yamamoto's voice was so obvious that Tsubame had to avert her eyes. "Tsuna and I became friends just now."

Apparently, this was news to Tsuna too. "A-Are you sure, Yamamoto?" Tsubame could picture the small boy shooting his new friend a bewildered stare with those large eyes of his. She maintained her gaze on the cheerful blue sky and the tufts of white clouds drifting by lazily. It really was a beautiful sight.

"Of course! You did just save my life, after all."

The sky didn't seem so appealing any more.

Tsubame practically materialised in front of the two boys. " _What_?" she all but spat.

Tsuna seemed to shrink in fear, feeling more vulnerable due to his partial nudity, while Yamamoto had the decency to stare at the ground. "I…was contemplating suicide," he admitted, body tense. "But Tsuna talked me out of it, thankfully. Y'know, you're a reliable friend, Tsuna."

The hero in question chuckled sheepishly at both the compliment and the warm smile he was on the receiving end of. His weak protests were dimmed by the bright smile on his lips.

Tsubame, however, sunk to her knees at the confession. _Suicide?_ Her stomach churned at the thought, and—to her dismay—her eyes began to heat up, tears threatening to spring up at any moment. "Why?" she murmured.

Yamamoto shrugged half-heartedly, careful not to agitate his broken arm. When he spoke, his voice was as cracked as his limb. "I just felt so useless, you know?" he said, subconsciously shifting his damaged appendage. "I was so angry at myself – and at the world. They kept taking away everything I loved, kept destroying my happiness." Yamamoto chuckled mirthlessly. "Kinda stupid, huh?"

Dimly, Tsubame realised her chest ached. Rather than wasting her breath on empty consolations, however, she opted for action. Hesitantly, she lowered her hand onto Yamamoto's head, patting it once before retracting it. To her, the action was practically equivalent to a hug.

Yamamoto's eyes finally lost that haunted look of his as they widened in surprise. He chuckled, and it was much warmer than his previous one. "I'm not a dog, Tsubame," he commented lightly.

"You're not," she agreed, smiling. "You're my friend."

She almost laughed at Yamamoto's expression.

Meanwhile, as the two new friends reacquainted themselves with one another and began anew, Tsuna slipped away undetected. He thumbed his nose in a mixture of self-satisfaction and arrogance, congratulating himself for not only helping the individuals separately, but also melding the bond between them. And he managed to acquire a friend for himself, too! Tsuna laughed aloud in pure exaltation.

"No-Good Tsuna, if you keep laughing to yourself like that, people will think you're crazy."

Tsuna screamed, caught supremely off guard. "R-Reborn!"

"Then again, people will still think you're a pervert," the toddler commented, smirking. With a force unfit for one of his size, Reborn flung several articles of clothing at the embarrassed boy from his perch in a nearby tree. His pathetic student fumbled with the clothes before finally clinging onto it, dressing himself immediately.

"Whose fault do you think that is?" Tsuna grumbled beneath his breath.

"Oh?" challenged Reborn, brandishing his Leon-gun. "Is that how you thank your gracious tutor for providing you with much-needed clothes?"

Predictably, Tsuna flinched and began screeching like a banshee. "I'm sorry! Don't shoot!"

"Heh." Smirking in satisfaction, Reborn returned his familiar to his perch on the fedora. "Still, you didn't do too badly today," he said with a deliberate casualness.

Tsuna perked up, smiling. "R-Really?" Two compliments in ten minutes? It was nothing short of a miracle!

"Just kidding."

Unfortunately, Tsuna's spirits plundered as the merciless Mafioso tossed several bombs at him. Yelling in fright, the clumsy boy did his best to avoid the projectiles, which was a bit difficult considering he had thrown his arms over his face, blocking his sight.

When silence hung in the air, Tsuna cautiously peeked up from his flimsy shield. He was met with the sight of a contemplative Reborn, and Tsuna's alarm bells began ringing. In the short time he'd had the misfortune of meeting the hitman, Tsuna had learnt how to gauge Reborn's moods depending on the way his face or body twitched. Currently, the demon baby had a mischievous glint in those calculating eyes of his, and Tsuna was instantly on-guard.

"Kishino Tsubame," Reborn muttered thoughtfully. "Tsuna, have her join your Family."

 _I knew it!_

"No!" exploded Tsuna. "You can't involve her with this mafia business. She's a girl, and she's fragile!"

"She managed to tackle you, didn't she?" Reborn asked, voice dripping with amusement. When Tsuna did nothing but stammer weak excuses, he began to rub salt in the wound. "Besides, she wouldn't be too pleased to hear you say that, would she? Remember what happened the other night?"

Tsuna cringed. He remembered all too clearly. But how did Reborn know? Unless… "You were there!" he gasped in realisation. "You were that shadow she noticed, not a cat!"

If anything, Reborn's smirk grew. "She must be something else if she could notice my presence," he acknowledged. Reborn remembered that night vividly; he'd been observing Tsuna and his potential Guardians, and had been careless enough that he was noticed, if only partially. Though both irritated and impressed by the feat, he just knew that the girl would be a vital asset to the Vongola Family. Reborn wanted her, and he (almost) always got what he wanted.

"Still…" Tsuna protested weakly. He knew when he was fighting a losing battle.

"Do it or die."

Namimori Middle School echoed with screams and various explosions for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

After walking Yamamoto home and declining his invitation inside (though much more warmly this time), Tsubame took to the town square. She was in desperate need of a pick-me-up – and nothing was better at cheering up a fangirl than her idol.

With a hop in her step, Tsubame bounded to one of the smallest buildings in the shopping district. It was the sole store in all of Namimori which sold music paraphernalia, and even then it wasn't very packed. As Tsubame entered the cramped establishment, a relaxing tune from the speakers rushed to envelope her. She breathed in the familiar scent of _technology_ – there was simply no other way to describe it. (As a city child, Tsubame was horrified by how technologically inept the tiny town of Namimori was – they still used _books_ to complete their research! Oh, how she missed her sweet, speedy internet.)

A handful of students and adults milled around the aisles, browsing the stands half-heartedly. Tsubame's hope in Namimori's citizens was restored when she caught sight of a girl who was practically buzzing with excitement. Upon closer inspection, she was in the section labelled "rock", and Tsubame almost gasped when she noticed the album in her hands. It was rare enough to find a Namimorian who was into modern music, let alone _her favourite band_.

The girl must have felt Tsubame's eyes boring into her, for she turned and smiled brightly. "Hello!" she chirped. "Sorry, did you want this CD? You've been staring at it."

Tsubame hesitated. While she did need it for her ever-growing collection, she wasn't sure it'd be wise to spend her meagre funds on such a trivial item. Hell, she didn't even have a proper dining table yet. But then she recalled why, exactly, she was here, and brightened considerably.

"Yeah," she admitted. "Unless you want it. Are you a fan as well?"

"I love them!" she gushed, handing the album to Tsubame. "I've been following them for several years now, and I still fall in love with them every day."

Tsubame couldn't help but smile at her dramatics. "If you want," she said, her voice drastically quieter compared to the girl's boisterous volume, "you can have the poster that comes with." As a minimalist, she herself had no need for it.

The girl blinked, as though taken aback by Tsubame's offer. But she soon broke into a wide grin. "I'd be more than happy to, hahi!" Her cheeks turned an interesting shade of pink at the squeal, and her anxious eyes darted to Tsubame.

But Tsubame simply tilted her head towards the counter invitingly. She was pleased to note that the brunette followed her almost immediately.

"Kishino Tsubame," she said as she walked out the door.

"My name is Miura Haru! Nice to meet you, hahi!"

As it turned out, Tsubame and Haru were more alike than they seemed. While the former was gloomy and reticent, the latter was vivacious and talkative. Haru effortlessly compensated for Tsubame's lacklustre comments, and held more than half of the conversation by herself. Tsubame was sympathetic and even empathetic (she refused to go traipsing down memory lane again – once was enough, thank you very much) but didn't have it in her to assist in carrying the chatter.

They shared many interests, ranging from fictional stars to real ones. Needless to say, they spent quite a while chatting and all too soon, Haru was screaming a frantic "hahi!" as she departed for her cram school lessons. Tsubame waved, amused, as she watched her friend run off.

A loud growl from her stomach reminded her that she had skipped lunch in favour of throwing her temper tantrum. Tsubame searched for the nearest food stall. With her insufficient allowance (what kind of lousy people sent their child money once a month? Oh, right: her parents) Tsubame couldn't afford to dine at a restaurant or even a café and, considering the lacklustre size of Namimori, there were no fast food establishments to be found.

Then again, she could pop by the Yamamoto restaurant… Nah. She had seen enough of Yamamoto for one day, friendship or no.

A fresh breeze drifted by, and Tsubame inhaled it with relish. Upon doing so, she caught whiff of something indescribably tantalising. Her trusty nose led her to a quaint, colourful cart manned by a figure in purple. His—well, Tsubame assumed it was a man, but it was hard to tell beneath that tunic of his—features were mostly covered by the large, round shades, preventing Tsubame from identifying his face. Even his hair was tucked away beneath his high collar and matching purple hat, only allowing a few tufts of black hair to remain visible.

Tsubame's mind regarded the eccentric man doubtfully, but her stomach protested. Eventually, the latter reigned supreme with a mighty roar, and Tsubame purchased one of the advertised meat buns, hoping she wouldn't receive food poisoning afterwards.

She was pleasantly surprised, however, when her tastebuds exploded upon contact with the soft bun. The flavour was so delectable that Tsubame didn't even care if she ended up with stomach pains afterwards; it was definitely worth it.

The wind direction shifted slightly as she regrettably swallowed her last bite. The overwhelming aroma of the various buns and dumplings was replaced by something far fouler. Tsubame's sensitive nose wrinkled at the subtle, sour scent, while her mind whispered about how _familiar_ it was.

She struggled to put two and two together. When she finally placed a face with the odour, realisation hit her like a kick in the back – which wasn't an expression. Tsubame was literally _kicked in the back_.

Fortunately, she didn't stumble. Thanks to her training (as a punching bag) Tsubame was able to stand her ground. Whirling around, she silently fumed, wondering what kind of coward had the gall to attack from the behind.

Still, she really shouldn't have expected less. Tsubame's opponent had once attacked her because of a minor misunderstanding. Smirking, she realised that she was provided with the rare opportunity for revenge.

The leader of the Official Yamamoto Takeshi Fanclub™ wouldn't know what hit her.

That is, if she ever stopped talking. Seriously, if the girl—what was her name again? Ami? Nami?—wanted to beat Tsubame up, then by all means, she should. But no, her mouth was running like a broken tap, and the words continued to gush forth non-stop.

Oh, there was a pause. She looked at Tsubame expectantly. Had she asked a question?

"Sorry, what was that?" Tsubame said blandly.

The girl ran a claw through her hair, which was an unfortunate shade of wilted hay. "I _said_ ," she hissed, "that it's your fault that everything's going wrong! You're a disturbance to this town!" She stamped her foot against the road like a particularly irritated bull. "After your unwanted arrival, Takeshi-sama started acting weirdly, and he even scolded us because of _you._ "

Tsubame barely refrained from rolling her eyes. She was certain those events would have occurred regardless of her sudden appearance. Still, she knew better than to openly oppose a rabid fangirl, and so remained as rigid and emotionless as possible. But her restraint almost shattered completely at the girl's next words.

"It's your fault Takeshi-sama attempted suicide!"

The words were barely out of her mouth when Tsubame struck. With a burst of speed that would've made Hibari maybe marginally proud, Tsubame lunged forward and punched the annoying girl straight in the face. There was a distinct lack of an audible crack, however, so bullet dodged.

Tsubame's heart was still beating wildly as she went to check on her fallen opponent. She didn't relax yet, though. Sure, her opponent was pitifully pathetic compared to Hibari and Kusakabe, but that didn't mean she wasn't a threat.

The girl's chest rose at an even pace, her breathing unhampered. So far, so good. A light nudge of Tsubame's foot procured no reaction from the girl; she was well and truly out.

Without a second glance, the victor turned to pick up her bag, which fell from her shoulders during the scuffle. She dusted the crumpled material, preparing to leave. Before she could, though, a white paper bag was thrust in her face. Shifting slightly, she noted the person on the other end was the Violet Vendor, standing behind his cart as if he hadn't just disappeared.

The shady salesman either didn't notice or chose to ignore Tsubame's doubtful look. He stood his ground stubbornly, hands and bag still outstretched. Perhaps it was some form of apology? A "congratulations", maybe? Shrugging, Tsubame accepted the gift with a slight bow and, upon peeking at the warm buns within, departed with a hearty thank-you.

She felt his eyes following her the entire time.


	9. Of Declarations and Decisions

**A/N:** This was originally gonna be chapter 10, because, you know, Tsuna's the Tenth. Ahem. Anyway, I had to cut lots of chunks out, so now this is the 9th chapter! I'm sorry I can't be meta enough. OTL

* * *

IX

 _Of Declarations and Decisions_

Those who assumed Hibari was unobservant were either blind or unfathomably stupid. Or perhaps a mixture of both. If anything, Hibari was more perceptive than a surveillance camera; he was constantly receiving a stream of information regarding his surroundings. With his hawk-like eyes, keen ears and sensitive nose, he was intensely aware of what took place in his school and its students. As such, as he scrutinised his latest lackey, he unravelled a peculiar revelation.

"You've changed," he said bluntly.

The scratching of her pen paused as the herbivore glanced up from her work. Not long ago, she would have shot him a scowl or even a glare in response to his remark, but now she merely blinked in surprise. She was no longer a snappish ball of rage—much to Hibari's pleasure—and was notably calmer, so much so that she managed to land a calculated, if superficial, blow on Kusakabe's person. Although he had echoed Kusakabe's surprise and pride, his reaction was much milder. He knew it was only time before he officially added her to his ranks.

"Well, I've gained some weight," she said, hesitant, when the silence grew awkward.

Hibari grunted dismissively. He rose from the couch in one fluid movement, savouring the spaciousness of the recently acquired reception room. "I'm taking a nap," he declared. "When I return, everything must be finished."

Like whenever he gave her an order, the girl pursed her lips in irritation. Nonetheless, she complied with a crisp, "Okay, senpai." When she believed he was far enough, she muttered beneath her breath, "I hope you get nightmares involving rainbows and unicorns."

Despite the warm spring air, Hibari shivered slightly.

When Hibari's dark figure was out of sight, Tsubame threw her head back with a soft groan. It landed one of the cushioned seats of the couch – which was positioned directly opposite to the one Hibari had previously occupied. Between the two pieces of furniture was a wooden coffee table, the surface of which was hidden by various sheets of paper.

Tsubame sat before the desk, the chilly tiles seeming to sap away her warmth. For the past half-hour, she had been attending to what she was sure was Hibari's paperwork, dumped onto her by the lazy bastard himself. Despite what he spouted about it being a "vital necessity for prefects to achieve and hone", Tsubame hated it. It was mundane and mind-numbing, and if she was going to accomplish the tasks of a prefect, shouldn't she be _instated as a freaking prefect already?_

Shaking her head to the diffuse the heated thoughts, Tsubame returned to her work. She was ordered to summarise the key points of each document, since she wasn't trusted to instate certain rules and grant permission for certain wishes. Privately, she knew that was a wise move, because if it were up to her, a certain fanclub would be evicted for good. Still, a girl could dream.

Another thirty minutes later and she was done. After stretching her stiff muscles and listening to the satisfying cracks, she collected the papers and deposited it in Hibari's drawer. (Seriously, the whole thing would have been much more fun if he let her work at his large, comfortable desk. But nooooo, Hibari was a possessive, territorial animal, and barely let her gaze at the table longingly, let alone actually use it.)

She was contemplating the pros and cons of graffiti when the door slammed open. For a terrifying second, she thought Hibari could read minds, but it wasn't the head prefect who had barged into the room - it was Gokudera and Yamamoto.

Wait. What?

Tsubame's relief soured into confusion, which escalated to bewilderment at the body in the boys' hands. They deposited Tsuna's comatose form onto the olive couch she had been leaning on moments ago. Satisfied, they raised their heads to take in the room, awed. That was when they finally noticed her.

"What are you doing here?!" cried Gokudera, emerald eyes widening.

Tsubame watched him, mildly amused. "I'm fairly sure that's my line."

So, her neighbour had enrolled into Nami Middle, just as she had. Strange how they had never crossed paths in the hallways before, but then again, Tsubame was occupied with DC affairs most of the time. She greeted Yamamoto with a small smile, which he returned with much more enthusiasm.

Smirking, Gokudera jammed his hands into pockets, his posture reeking of arrogance. "As of now, this room will serve as Vongola Headquarters – our base."

"Aren't you a little too old to be playing games?"

"You're never too old for games," declared Yamamoto, beaming.

"It's not a game!" snapped Gokudera, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "The Vongola is the most esteemed Family in the entirety of the mafia world, and Tenth will be the greatest boss to ever lead it! With me as the Tenth's right-hand man, of course." He shot a nasty glare at both Tsubame and Yamamoto, as if daring them to say otherwise.

Yamamoto merely grinned. "You sure you don't wanna be the right leg, Gokudera? I mean, you can do a lot more with a missing hand than a missing leg."

"No, you baseball idiot! The right hand is obviously more important!"

"Hmm. You sure?"

The cat and dog pair continued to bicker, though it was somewhat one-sided. Between Yamamoto's bright laughter and Gokudera's furious yells, Tsubame was unceremoniously shoved in their back of their minds, as was the unconscious Tsuna.

Meanwhile, Tsubame was frowning thoughtfully. "Vongola…?" she repeated, bemused. An image of her cousin flashed by, and she suddenly remembered why the foreign word sounded so familiar. "That's Italian for 'clam', right?"

That seemed to snatch Gokudera's attention. He spluttered indignantly, rather speechless considering Tsubame was technically correct. (And that was the best kind of correct.) Before he could actually compose a coherent comment, the door burst open yet again. Seriously, Tsubame was going to have a fit if she had to fill in more paperwork because of a damaged door and an equally damaged wall.

Several lower members of the committee trudged in. They certainly weren't pleased to see their room invaded by random students, and a scuffle immediately erupted between the opposing parties. Tsubame watched in slight disbelief as they beat each other senseless, for seemingly no reason whatsoever. _Men,_ she thought uncharitably.

Since she considered herself the unrelated third party, Tsubame didn't think to help either side. Gokudera and Yamamoto effortlessly defeated the weak members at an embarrassingly quick rate, making her sigh.

How were _they_ official members of the committee when she was still being processed? Tsubame had a sneaking suspicion it was due to her gender – all the other members were male, and allegedly physically superior. Their appearance was also a tad more intimidating than hers, ensuring the compliance and submission of any and all delinquents. Tsubame's lacklustre height, however, struck fear into the hearts of her enemies as much as a bunny did. While she could use that to her advantage in the long run, it simply wasn't appropriate for a prefect.

She supposed she could now sympathise with Hibari's methods. To be a proper prefect, Tsubame needed to compensate for her shortcomings through her physical and mental prowess – hence the constant trials she was forced to undergo. That, or Hibari was a stupid, sadistic bastard. A part of her was inclined to believe the latter.

An alarmed yelp brought Tsubame back to reality. _Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear_ , she noted wryly, for there stood Hibari, in all his haughty glory. The head prefect had similar sentiments about his subordinates, if the disgusted frown he shot at the bodies on the floor was any indication. Irritated, he proceeded to single-handedly knock the unprepared Yamamoto and Gokudera unconscious.

Tsubame winced sympathetically and massaged her shoulder. She could almost feel the phantom pain of Hibari's tonfas on her. When he attempted to dump the bodies of her friend and neighbour out the window, Tsubame began to intervene, fear clutching at her chest.

"Senpai," she ground out, "I don't think that's a good idea. Think of all the paperwork."

Tsuna shot her an incredulous look—oh, hey, he was back in the land of the living—while Hibari frowned contemplatively. The hope welling within her was soon dashed when her heartless upperclassman shrugged. "You can deal with that," was his only comment.

The bodies dipped precariously, ready to crash into the unforgiving ground at the slightest touch. Without thinking, Tsubame slithered in between Hibari's outstretched arms and stared straight into his startled eyes. The stubborn teens stood their ground in their stalemate – Tsubame couldn't retract the bodies unless Hibari retreated, and Hibari couldn't tip the bodies out without shoving Tsubame out of the way first. And while the prefect was certainly capable of doing so, Tsubame was placing all her hopes on the fact that Hibari, despite his sadism, wasn't a total brute – he _probably_ wouldn't strike her for standing up for others, even if it meant taking a stand against him.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, voice cold and eyes calculating.

 _Sacrificing my spot as a prefect._ "Assisting my friend. And neighbour," she added belatedly. Privately, she thought it rather fortunate that Gokudera was still out-of-sorts, though she doubted he would care too much. "Even though we're only two storeys up, the fall could result in grievous harm on their part. And that would be a pain."

Dismissing her (brilliant) pun, Hibari continued to scrutinise the girl who dared to oppose him. For an alarming moment, Tsubame thought he would send her flying out the window along with Gokudera and Yamamoto, but then she caught his steel eyes glimmering with something akin to acknowledgement. Before she could examine it further, he whirled around, in search of another source to to vent his pent-up frustration – which happened to be one unfortunate Sawada Tsunayoshi.

Tsubame barely had time to toy with the idea of helping the poor boy, so occupied was she with her stupid schoolmates. Hibari, with his bull-like strength, made it seem so easy to heave both bodies up. But Tsubame found it tremendously difficult to drag the pair back inside, lest one fell to the ground while she saved the other.

Finally, she managed to position the boys against the wall. Feeling somewhat spiteful, she pinched both their noses, closing off their source of oxygen. They started awake with jerks and unattractive snorts, which was quite a sight.

"About time you woke up," she noted, frowning. "We have to—"

But Tsubame never had the chance to finish. A deafening explosion rang throughout the room, followed by clouds of smoke. Before she could so much as inhale the noxious gas, she felt her body being plucked from the smoky room and found herself staring down at the school grounds.

Tsuna's panicked screams overrode her shocked gasp as they fell through the sky and plummeted downwards. Instead of breathing in air, however, Tsubame ended up swallowing a mouthful of water as they crashed into the school's pool. The chemical-infested waters burned her throat as it invaded her system. Her mind shrieked for air, but even her own thoughts were drowned out by her body's frantic flailing as she tried to resurface.

The blurry expanse of blue before her and the excruciating sensations she was experiencing forced Tsubame back to another time. It was similar to this one, where she had been struggling to emerge from the murky depths of the ocean and back to the surface. Ten years ago, her cousin had been the one to rescue her, but now…

Idly, as Tsubame continued to drift in the salty water, she wondered what had happened to him.

And then her body was enveloped in warmth. The shadows hovering around her eyes receded as she burst out of the pool, inhaling as much air as she could. The sudden brightness was blinding. She clamped her eyes shut in order to negate the stinging sensation as she was pulled out of the water's clutches, which slurped noisily as it reluctantly released her.

The sharp air assaulted her moist skin, causing it to erupt in gooseflesh. She shivered violently, feeling cold all over. Even as she ran her hands over her bare arms in attempt to warm herself up, it was all for naught. She couldn't stop trembling.

But that was okay, because her friends' worried gazes warmed her more rapidly than any fire or mug of cocoa could, and soon enough her body stilled.

"Are you okay, Tsubame-san?" asked Tsuna, wringing his hands in agitation.

Tsubame nodded, forcing her lips to twitch into a slight smile. Before speaking, she cleared her throat to dislodge any lingering droplets of pool water. "Yeah. Also, thanks for saving me, Yamamoto."

Her saviour smiled. "Back at you. Tsuna told us—well, it was more like screaming—about how you stopped Hibari for us."

A soft grunt drew her attention to one flustered Gokudera. "Yeah," he muttered, deliberating avoiding her gaze. "Thanks, I guess."

"No problem, I guess," she replied, her smile shifting into a smirk.

The silver-haired boy ran a damp hand through his equally damp locks in irritation. "Thanks to that damn prefect, all my bombs are useless," he declared, extracting several orange sticks and shaking them furiously.

Bombs? Realisation and rage illuminated Tsubame's features as she put two and two together. Clenching her moist fists, and ignoring the subsequent squelching noise, she spat, "The explosion was because of you?"

"No. It was because of me."

Tsubame's gaze darted around to find the source of the new voice. A dark glimmer caught her eye, and she looked down to see perhaps the most ridiculous sight she had ever encountered – and that was saying something, considering the freak show that was Namimori.

The person who had almost caused Tsubame's death was a small man dressed in black. Perhaps 'toddler' was a more accurate word, but the sleek, black suit and matching fedora, the bottomless pits that were his eyes and—most importantly—the calm, ominous aura he radiated informed her that this was no ordinary infant. The dark figure was neither adult nor child – was he even _human_?

"Reborn!" cried Tsuna. "Why did you blow up the reception room? You could have killed—" The boy's whining abruptly switched to a startle yelp as he was pelted with something small. As the item ricocheted off of Tsuna's now-red forehead, Tsubame was startled to discover it was a small pebble.

Judging by the angle of the throw, and taking into account of the present party, she knew it was Reborn who had attacked Tsuna. She was both unsurprised and amazed, because she had barely seen him move.

Reborn simply smiled. "If I hadn't used that bomb to distract Hibari, then there would be no way you guys would escape with just a few bruises and scratches," he declared, his sombre words contrasting with his squeaky, childish voice. "Then again," he added, cavernous eyes trained on Tsubame, "I'm sure you would have emerged unharmed, Kishino Tsubame."

The girl in question fidgeted with her translucent top. Was this how people felt when she stared at them? Except Reborn's soul-searching gaze was evidently more potent and invasive than anything she could muster. Still, she did her best to appear anything but disgruntled. Carefully, she smoothed her features into a blank slate, unwilling to advertise her discomfort to the demon before her.

"How do you know my name?" she asked, making sure to sound curious and not at all concerned.

"I'm Reborn, Tsuna's home tutor." His deceptively sweet smile grew. "And I'm a hitman."

Tsubame barely blinked. "I see."

"You don't sound surprised."

Yeah, well, neither did he. Judging by the satisfied tone of his voice, Tsubame suspected he knew how she was going to react – like how he knew how wary she was around him. Swallowing thickly, she shrugged. "Gokudera said something about the mafia earlier on. But back to my earlier question: my name?"

The assassin approached her, and Tsubame tried not to twitch. "You're an interesting girl, and would be a valuable asset to the Vongola. Will you join Tsuna's Family?"

Her irritation caused her to tune out Tsuna's horrified scream and Gokudera's indignant shout. "I'm neither a thing nor an _asset_ ," she muttered, frowning. Once her exasperation subsided somewhat, Tsubame's eyes widened in disbelief. "Who else is in this…Family?"

Reborn struggled not to smirk victoriously. "Besides Tsuna, there's Gokudera, Yamamoto, Poison Scorpion Bianchi, Bovino Lambo, Miura Haru, Sasagawa Kyoko, and a few prospective members."

A couple of those names meant nothing to her, but she was befuddled to hear Haru's name thrown in the list. Still, ignoring Tsuna's cry of "Don't involve Kyoko-chan in this!" she pressed forward with a prompt, "Including?"

"Hibari Kyoya and Sasagawa Ryohei."

Tsubame felt as if she had been punched in the gut. She exhaled sharply. "And you want me to become a Mafioso?"

"Crazy, right?" squeaked Tsuna. It wasn't an impressive action, considering he was meant to be the leader of a gang of sorts. "You don't have to if you don't want to, Tsubame-san!"

"Aw, come on," chuckled Yamamoto. "The mafia game will be fun, so join, Tsubame!"

"It's not a game, you idiot!" yelled Gokudera. His fingers twitched longingly for a stick of dynamite.

"But why me?" she pressed. She wasn't even strong enough to become a bloody prefect, for god's sake.

"You have potential to be a great hitman," declared Reborn. _Hitwoman,_ her mind corrected absently. "Perhaps one of the best."

Tsubame tried to ignore the obvious bait dangling before her, but, like a starving fish, she swallowed the treat whole. Her, an elite assassin? She could practically taste the tantalising thrill of power at that very moment.

But while it was indeed tempting, Tsubame was aware of the consequences of accepting Reborn's offer. It would be like dealing with the devil – though, for all she knew, that was who the home tutor truly was. Her stomach churned painfully.

"I'm sorry," she began, "I—"

Gokudera scoffed. "Her, a great hitman? Reborn-san, there's no way this shorty can be a decent Mafioso, let alone an elite!"

Short? She was the average height for a girl her age! Instead of allowing her annoyance to surface, Tsubame crafted her features into a sly, superior smirk. "Feeling threatened, Gokudera- _kun_?" she asked, voice dripping with derision.

"Don't be ridiculous! There's no way I could feel _threatened_ by a brat who can't even swim," he spat, his hands convulsing in anger.

"That's good," she said, nodding.

"…It is? Why?"

She smiled. "Because, as of now, I'm going to be part of the mafia."

Her declaration was rewarded with a despondent groan on Tsuna's part and a cheerful chuckle courtesy of Yamamoto. From the corner of her eye, Tsubame saw Reborn smirking in self-satisfaction at his success and perhaps in amusement at Gokudera's infuriated yell.

"Oh, and I'm also going to be Tsuna's right-hand man."

She was forced to dodge a soggy stick of dynamite.


	10. Of Confusion and Elation

X

 _Of Confusion and Elation_

A sharp shard of fear sliced Tsubame's heart, its icy touch leeching her of all her warmth. Hysteria bubbled in the back of her throat, and she had to swallow nervously to prevent it from emerging as a pile of bile, or worse – a burst of maniacal laughter. Somehow, she managed to clamp down on her anxiety, and the only thing giving her away was the slight twitch of her eye.

Considering she was staring into the steely eyes of Hibari Kyoya, that seemed like a fair reaction. When one kept in mind that the she had directly defied the head prefect – well, then, it was nothing short of a miracle that she wasn't running away at the speed of light. The deathly silence wasn't helping, either.

Finally, after several seconds of intense staring, Hibari was kind enough to end the suffocating silence.

"You intentionally defied me," he said, cutting to the chase. His razor-sharp tone effortlessly carved through the thick, practically tangible, tension buzzing within the reception room. "Why?"

If Hibari was anything, he was predictable. Tsubame had foreseen this interrogation the moment she stepped in front him that fateful day, and had prepared an answer that would hopefully nullify any lingering fury and maybe reduce her chances of being bitten to death. God, that would be an embarrassing way to go.

"I couldn't stand by while two students suffered unnecessarily," she said, her tone bland but polite.

Hibari scrutinised her intently. "Punishment is a crucial aspect of the disciplinary committee."

"There's a difference between punishment and sadism. And Namimori Middle's policy dictates we help each other, whether from external forces or internal."

Much like a bird, Hibari tilted his head to the side marginally. His beady eyes stared straight at Tsubame's impassive features, as if gauging her worth. After a moment's silence (Tsubame felt her twitch returning with a vengeance) he rose from his leather chair and stalked towards her.

"Will you accept the price for your insubordination?" he asked, voice soft yet deadly.

Hesitantly, Tsubame nodded. She knew her refusal wouldn't impede what he had in store for her - it would only worsen her punishment. Tsubame squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that it would end as swiftly and painlessly as possible.

She felt Hibari jerk her arm forwards, with her palm facing upwards. Instead of being struck, something soft was deposited in her hand.

Tsubame peeled open her eyes, and was startled to see Hibari's face right in front of hers. Instinctively, she stepped back, but her movement was inhibited thanks to the death-like grip he had on her wrist. Her eyes immediately darted away from his face— _too close! Way too close!_ —and instead focused on the item in her hand. They promptly widened in shock.

In her hand was the one thing she strived for, the one thing she pushed herself to get. It was the disciplinary committee armband.

"What…?" Was she dreaming?

"Even though you so blatantly defied your superior, you did so for the sake of ensuring the safety of the students," he muttered. Even if they were in the wrong, having flagrantly encroached his territory like that. "But if there's a repeat of your actions, I will bite you to death."

His newly-commissioned subordinate either didn't hear or ignored his last comment, judging by the wide smile lighting up her face. Hibari's hand released hers immediately, wary of her contagious glee. Still, even he couldn't deny the small kernel of satisfaction nestled in his cold heart – though he'd sooner maim himself and everyone around him than openly admit it.

She restrained her emotions long enough to whisper a heart-felt, "Thank you, Hibari-senpai." As she raised her warm gaze to meet his cool one, though, she wound up eyeing his blazer.

Hibari smirked. "You'll have to earn this, I'm afraid," he said, sounding anything but.

A wave of irritation chased away her happiness. A small part of him was disappointed with the change, but it was mostly overridden by amusement. He was back on safe, familiar grounds now.

His underling frowned. "And how, pray tell, will I earn it?"

She received her answer the next day.

* * *

It was a lovely day, she supposed. The afternoon sky was an endless blue interrupted by only the occasional white fluff of cloud. It was warm but not stifling so, though Tsubame longed for a cool breeze or two. All in all, it was the perfect day to head to the park and gaze at the flourishing cherry blossoms.

Sighing, Tsubame leaned against one of the trees and stared at the canopy of pink, the lowest branches almost brushing her head. Considering the time of the year, it was strange to see the plants in bloom. Then again, Namimori was an anomaly in itself. Tsubame was starting to wonder if her tumble with Tsuna on that fateful first day had actually resulted in a concussion (or maybe even a coma) on her part, and everything following that event was simply an elaborate fantasy concocted by her mind...

"Oh!" exclaimed an ecstatic voice, snapping Tsubame from her thoughts. "Nice!"

"We're the first ones here!" cheered another.

For the umpteenth time that day, Tsubame heaved a weary sigh. Pushing herself off the tree, she approached—what was this?—the seventh group of cherry blossom viewers and straightened her spotless armband.

Like with the previous instances, people paused as she came into view. This time, though, it was she who stopped in her steps. Somehow, she managed to keep from groaning out loud.

"Tsubame-san?" Tsuna exclaimed, surprised – but not unpleasantly so. _For now._ "What are you doing here?"

Yamamoto grinned, his bright attitude making Tsubame wince. "Come to admire the cherry blossoms like us?"

"Stalking us, probably," huffed Gokudera.

"Not exactly," she said dryly. Besides, she had better things to do than stalk her _neighbour_. With some trepidation and a whole lot of pride, Tsubame removed her hand from her arm, and a wave of shock instantly slammed into the trio before her. "I became a prefect," she declared needlessly.

Tsuna looked one second away from a panic attack while Gokudera gaped in utter disbelief. She was a bit bummed with the reception, but not necessarily surprised. As always, though, Yamamoto managed to lift her spirits. Rather than recoiling in horror or shock (or horrified shock) like the others, the notoriously chipper teen smiled and said, "Nice job, Tsubame."

"Nice job?!" Gokudera repeated incredulously. "She's that Hibari bastard's lackey!"

Tsubame scowled, her mood withering. "I'm not his _lackey._ I'm my own person, which is more than I can say for you, Stupidera."

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" he spat, wearing a scowl of his own.

"The way you practically kiss the floor Tsuna walks on – that's what I mean."

Gokudera recoiled, deeply offended. "Of course I do! Tenth is—"

"Um," Tsuna piped up hesitantly, having recovered from his minor bout of cardiac arrest. "I'm right here, you know."

If Tsubame were in a better mood, she would have thought it funny how both she and Gokudera ducked their heads like scolded children. Black eyes briefly locked with green before flicking away with irritation.

She coughed lightly as she collected herself. "Anyway, I'm here on prefect duty." Her lips began to twitch into a smile at the words, before recalling what, exactly, her current job entailed. "That is… making sure no one comes here. This area," she continued, waving a hand over the pink park, "is off limits."

"What?" cried Tsuna, shoulders slumped. "No way…"

Yamamoto's smile dimmed considerably. "That's not very fair."

Tsubame's apologetic look was quickly wiped from her features as Gokudera scoffed. "Let me guess," he spat. "Hibari's orders?"

Like a heated kettle, the frustration she had been restraining reached its boiling point. "I don't like it either," she hissed. Her hands clenched, strangling the life out of her shirt and wishing it were Gokudera's neck instead. Or, better yet, Hibari's. The bastard had called out here in the wee hours of the morning, delivered his orders, and promptly disappeared before she could even protest.

She had spent the better part of her day crushing the hopes of others. The constant couples she didn't mind chasing away—she rather relished it—nor the influx of others her age; it was the older folk that did her in. (Well, except for that one lady, who tried to give Tsubame a verbal lashing and, when that failed, began whacking her with a cane. Yeah, she had no qualms about yanking the stupid stick away from the surprisingly strong witch before shoving it back it in her wrinkled hands with a stern glower.)

Most people immediately caved when they spotted her infamous armband, despite the fact that almost none of them actually attended Nami Middle. Then again, the committee wasn't necessarily bound to the school grounds. The cockier ones challenged her, assuming she was nothing but a weak little girl. They relented when she dished out her glare, a few threats and the occasional punch to the gut.

When it came to the more sensitive people, however, Tsubame switched tactics and lied through her teeth. There was some sort of leak in the vicinity, or there was a flock of tenacious birds that tended to disturb humans, or an outbreak of wasps. There was no shortage of excuses on her part, because, really, she didn't have the heart to confess that their day was ruined was all because of one childish boy and his selfish desires.

The worst thing was that part of her was glad the area was isolated. She actually understood why Hibari valued the peace and quiet so much he'd spare the effort to drive away others (well, spared the effort to make her do his bidding, at any rate); the sight and sounds of others would disrupt the serenity of the park, as people were wont to do. Tsubame didn't know whether to be happy or dismayed she could not only follow Hibari's way of thinking, but also sympathise.

Tsuna frowned thoughtfully. "You shouldn't do anything you don't want to, Tsubame-san," he advised her.

"Alright." She nodded, brushing her fingers over her armband. "I'll tell him. If he comes back, that jerk."

"Actually," interjected a silky smooth voice that made Tsubame want to scream and run for the hills, "I never left."

The effect of Hibari's sudden appearance was instantaneous. Tsuna emitted a frightened squeal while Gokudera cursed and Yamamoto paled. Personally, Tsubame revealed no such response. Okay, she flinched a little. But it wasn't out of trepidation like the others, at least. No, it was because Hibari had been hanging in the area the entire time, probably keeping an eye on her… which meant that he watched as she ran several laps around the park, tripped over a small rock that one time, try and fail to use one of the thicker cherry blossom branches as a handle for her chin-ups and her not-so-subtle pocketing of the branch she had accidentally snapped off. _Brilliant,_ she thought with a cringe.

Hibari hopped down from his perch on the tree-top. Despite the considerable height of the drop, the possible acrobat-slash-ninja stuck a perfect landing and strode towards them without missing a beat. Tsubame tried not to feel too impressed – an accomplishable task since he was scowling at her.

"Remember what I said about disobedience?" he asked, arms crossed. His blazer glimmered in the sunlight, sleek as ever.

She tried pushing the corners of her lips into a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "It's refreshing and should be encouraged?"

"Nice try," he said, and was that a smile he was trying to fight off? "You were of some use today," he admitted, surprising Tsubame further. He _wasn't_ insulting her? That was as close as a compliment she'd probably ever receive from him. "As such, I'll pardon your mutinous thoughts."

Tsubame didn't know whether to cry in relief or confusion, but she was saved from the decision when two new arrivals made themselves known.

Contrary to popular belief, Tsubame was, indeed, a teenage girl. And, like most teenage girls, perverts made her skin crawl. It was a common reaction, really—a natural instinct that was ingrained into most—much like when-you-see-Hibari-Kyoya-run-for-your-life or if-a-baby-asks-you-to-join-the-mafia-say-hell-no. Coincidentally, Tsubame had dismissed both these universal laws, and so it was only natural that she ignored the warning bells blaring in her mind as the newcomer came closer and closer.

"Ah, what a nice view!" exclaimed Shamal, his foul stench curdling Tsubame's blood. She flinched at his proximity; she could _feel_ his inebriated breath creeping across her face and neck. "Don't you agree, Tsubame-chan?"

A scream was on the tip of her tongue, ready to burst free and shatter the ear-drums of those around her. But she clamped her lips shut obstinately. She was a prefect of Namimori Middle and a Mafioso (sort of), and she'd be damned if she was scared witless because of some old pervert. Even if he was in the mafia, too.

Tsubame kept the last point in mind as she wretched herself free from Shamal's unsteady grip. Sometimes, it was all too easy to forget that the lecher currently attempting to hug her was a deadly killer. But she supposed that that was all a part of his plan. Tsubame couldn't help but commend his convincing act. After all, who would suspect a pathetic pervert of being a ruthless assassin?

Not her, that was for sure. She would have remained pathetically ignorant if it weren't for Gokudera, whom she had convinced (read: manipulated) to impart onto her all his knowledge about the current affairs of the mafia.

Shamal feigned a hurt sigh. "You're so cold, Tsubame-chan! Here I was, thinking we could watch the cherry blossoms together. As a date, you know?"

Tsubame's body was wracked with shivers as she grumbled, "You're not my type." He was practically her dad's age.

"And cold, rude jerks like this bastard are?" Shamal sniffed, wiping away an invisible tear as he thrust a hand at Hibari. Unfortunately for them all, in that same hand was a glass bottle of something decidedly _not_ water _,_ which sloshed around and narrowly missed Hibari's spotless uniform.

Namimori's head prefect growled. His soon-to-be victim took a swig of his drink, thoroughly unconcerned with his surroundings. Hibari chose that moment to strike, slamming his tonfa into the tipsy man and sending him crashing into the unforgiving ground.

Tsubame winced, but not for Shamal's plight. No, the smarmy toad had it coming to him. What she was worried over was the fact that Hibari was undoubtedly _pissed_ , which meant bad things for anyone and everyone within his line of sight. She was half-expecting him to lash out at her next, but he simply directed his attention to Reborn, who had arrived with Shamal.

And, because they were men (i.e. testosterone-filled morons), they established a competition with the park at stake. Seriously, were cherry blossoms that wonderful? They could literally look out their windows if they were so desperate. Then again, she had a feeling this was about more than a few plants.

"Men and their stubborn pride," she muttered, crossing her arms.

And then the ridiculous happened.

Tsubame watched with wide eyes as Tsuna transformed into a completely different person. For one thing, he was half-naked (honestly, was this some kind of fetish of his?) and his eyes grew wild and savage, like that of a lion's. The most notable difference was the orange flame dancing on his forehead, yet he showed no reaction to what should be a life-threatening presence. In fact, he was so occupied with his efforts to protect his friends that he took little to no interest in his surroundings whatsoever.

Miraculously, he landed a hit on Hibari – using a duster, of all things. Tsubame slapped a hand to her face at the odd sight, stifling the amused grin threatening to peek through. But then Tsuna's fire fizzled out, and he was back to his vulnerable self.

Before Hibari could have Tsuna drawn and quartered, though, the second miracle of the day took place. Hibari…was on his knees. He had been defeated. Everyone in the vicinity visibly reeled in shock, including the teen in question. His look of unadulterated astonishment was burned into Tsubame's memory.

"Doctor Shamal did that?!" cried Tsuna as he tugged on his gravity-defying locks.

Reborn smirked. "Shamal released the Trident Mosquito the moment Hibari hit him."

 _Ugh_. Just the thought of those damn bugs made Tsubame's skin itch, and she absentmindedly rubbed the back of her neck. Mosquitoes were annoying little pests, buzzing around others and generally irritating the hell out of everyone. Now that she thought about it, mosquitoes seemed like the perfect weapon for Shamal.

"The old drunk is _that_ strong?" Tsuna asked dubiously.

 _Of course_ , Tsubame wanted to say. That 'old drunk' could kill them all in ten different ways without even batting an eye. But there was something more pressing on her mind.

"What did you do to him?" she asked through gritted teeth.

The sham of a doctor winked at her. "Nothing too serious, Tsubame-chan. It's just a minor disease that prevents him from standing whenever he's near cherry blossoms."

That was _minor_? Tsubame could feel herself tremble with disgust. But before she could explode like a volcano, she saw a flash of black in the corner of her eye. Hibari had pulled himself up, looking as if he was no worse for wear. Had the disease worn off?

"Hibari-san!" gasped Tsuna, vocalising their collective surprise.

"Rules are rules," he said coolly. "Go ahead and enjoy the cherry blossoms."

Sure, he looked and sounded normal… But Tsubame had spent enough time with the head prefect to gain a thorough enough understanding of him and his mannerisms. There was a slight hitch to usually smooth voice, and his steely eyes seemed duller than usual. The horrible sway to his steps only confirmed her suspicions.

She turned to Shamal before it was too late. "Fix him," she demanded.

The hitman met her imploring stare almost apathetically. Though his hands were tucked in his pockets and his posture was slumped and lax, she could see something in those hard eyes of his. Beneath the haze of alcohol was a cold, calculating glint.

"Why should I help that brat?" he slurred. "He's nothing but a bully. You know that more than anyone, Tsubame-chan."

Tsubame clutched her arm, feeling the smooth armband crumple beneath her grip. Everywhere she looked, there were cherry blossoms. Hell, one couldn't even walk half a kilometre before coming across one. Thinking about how much pain Hibari would be in as he constantly fought the pressure struggling to subdue him—because she knew the prefect would never show any weakness if he could help it—made her sick to her stomach. No one deserved that.

"Please," she whispered.

"Hm. Maybe for a kiss?"

"Doctor Shamal!" squealed Tsuna, perhaps more disturbed with his suggestion than Tsubame herself – which was saying a lot. "Tsubame-san's right; you can't let Hibari-san go like that. It… It's not right."

Shamal shrugged. "Nothing about our lives is right. Or didn't you get the memo, little Vongola?"

"Shamal," Reborn said, a clear warning his voice. No use scaring the kids before they could accomplish his agenda, right?

Shamal managed to look chastised for approximately one second. Then he threw back his head and groaned. "Man, you guys are no fun. Maybe those girls over there will be better company, hm?" He giggled in a way that Tsubame wasn't entirely sure was feigned and tottered off, humming loudly.

"Good riddance," snorted Gokudera.

"Now we can have this whole place to ourselves!" cheered Yamamoto.

Tsuna smiled. "Feel free to join us, Tsubame-san. Mom's coming by later with lunch as well – we're gonna have a picnic."

Tsubame glanced at path Hibari had taken. She could barely see him now, but even from this distance, she could tell he was staggering. For _the_ Hibari Kyoya to be so affected… It must be bad.

She turned back to Tsuna, an apologetic smile on her lips. "Sorry, boss, but I'm going to go after Hibari-senpai."

"Oh." The corners of Tsuna's lips twitched into a concerned frown. "Well, if you have time later…"

She nodded. "Have fun."

Tsubame jogged to catch up to Hibari. She refrained from walking too close to him; no doubt he'd put on a show and pretend to be all right while barking at her to leave him alone. He was a lot like a wild animal in that regard. Instead, she trailed behind him by roughly seven metres, enough to claim plausible deniability and act like she was simply heading the same way as him, and wow, what a coincidence, huh senpai?

He gained strength the further he distanced himself from the park. The cherry blossom trees grew few and far between until they were plain green trees once more. Her job done, she turned to go. In doing so, she completely missed the speculative look Hibari tossed her over his shoulder.


	11. Of Realisation and Rejection

**A/N:** The reviews for the latest chapter were so cute. You guys seriously make my day!

ThePlotBunnyBreeder: I identify with your username so much

Sekai Kun: Queen is fine :D

OneWhoReadsTooMuch: You hit the nail on the head!

bored411: Thank you especially for always reviewing ^_^

* * *

XI

 _Of Realisation and Rejection_

"So, you're in the mafia?"

A violent coughing fit answered what Haru thought was a relatively innocent question. The bustling shoppers paused in concern, but a bright smile on Haru's part assuaged their worries.

Tsubame nursed her stinging throat as they resumed walking, her juicebox now forgotten. "Y-You know about the mafia?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

Unfortunately, Haru had no such inhibitions. "Hahi! Of course Haru does! After all, Haru is going to be the wife of the greatest mafia boss ever!" she declared.

And there went the second bomb. Fortunately, Tsubame wasn't drinking this time. She probably wouldn't touch juice for another few years, judging by the way her throat was still smarting. "You…like Tsuna?" she asked, bemused.

Haru sighed dreamily. "Who wouldn't?"

Tsubame simply shook her head.

"How did you figure out I'm part of the mafia?" she asked, fiddling with her bangs.

"That was easy!" Haru claimed, and Tsubame didn't doubt it. There was a reason Haru attended the second best school in the district, as well as the town's top cram school. "Tsubame-chan, you're always covered in wounds—much to Haru's displeasure—and once Haru discovered you were friends with Tsuna-san and the others, I put two and two together."

Tsubame drummed her fingers on her juicebox as she digested Haru's words. "What about you, Haru? What do you plan to do with the mafia? I mean, besides…marrying Tsuna."

Haru placed a finger over her lips, humming thoughtfully. "Haru's never been physically proficient, so Haru will use all of her brain power to help out in any way she can!" Her chestnut eyes practically blazed with determination.

Tsubame smiled. Not for a second did she doubt Haru's capabilities, nor her resolve.

"Hahi!" gasped Haru, thrusting her finger across the street. "It's Tsuna-san!"

Before Tsubame could even blink, Haru vanished. She materialised beside the dazed Tsuna, linking her arm with his.

Tsubame rolled her eyes good-naturedly. For someone who claimed to be physically deficient, her speed and stealth were clearly above average. Either that or Tsubame's and Tsuna's own aptitudes were severely lacking…

Tsuna recoiled in shock, pulling his arm from Haru's grip. "H-Haru! What are you doing here?!"

"Haru and Tsubame-chan are window shopping," she announced, beaming.

"Tsubame…chan?" he repeated uncertainly. He finally spotted Tsubame, who was a metre or so away from the pair, and his jaw dropped in disbelief. "You guys are friends?!"

"Yep!"

Tsuna was having a difficult time wrapping his mind around that fact. _Well_ , he thought to himself, _stranger things have happened_. Such as Tsubame's impractical attire.

"Aren't you cold, Tsubame-san?" he asked, frowning. While he and Haru were wearing warm jackets to protect them from the autumn chill, all Tsubame had on was a loose tank and shorts that barely stopped mid-thigh.

"Not really. I like to feel the breeze on my skin," she admitted, squirming under Tsuna's concerned gaze. "Anyway, I've gotta get going."

Haru pouted in disappointment. "Are you sure, Tsubame-chan? Haru was going to take you to this wonderful cake store!"

Tsubame smiled. "Maybe next time. Bye, you two. Have fun on your date."

"I-It's not a date!" shrieked Tsuna, his cheeks growing warm. Tsubame didn't seem to have heard him. Though her back was turned, Tsuna just knew that she was wearing that vexing smirk of hers.

* * *

"Is it because you're allergic to the sun?"

No reaction. Well, there might have been, but Tsubame couldn't see everything due to those shades blocking her view of his eyes.

Oh, there was an idea.

"Is it because you've lost sight in both eyes and you don't want to unnerve people?"

For some reason, Tsubame felt as if the Violet Vendor was giving her an unflattering look. Though his entire body was concealed, she could have sworn she saw him twitch. Well, she couldn't really blame him, since she had been barraging him with questions for the past several minutes. She was notoriously curious, and would stop at nothing to unearth why, exactly, the man was so intent on concealing his identity so thoroughly.

"He's gonna poison your food if you keep pissing him off," warned Gokudera.

Tsubame shifted on her stool to face her companion. She rewarded him with a flat look in response to his touching concern. "And I'm sure you know all about poisoned food," she drawled.

Automatically, Poison Scorpion Bianchi's brother and notorious guinea pig clutched his stomach, his face distorted in pain.

Tsubame procured a water bottle from her bag and offered it to a grateful Gokudera. After taking a few sips, he grumbled, "Remind me why I'm here again?"

"Hmm…" Tsubame glanced at the darkening sky, pretending to look thoughtful. "Maybe it's because you _blew up my wall_."

Gokudera had the decency to wince. "I said I was sorry, didn't I?" It wasn't _his_ fault that that damned rat had scurried through his apartment in the middle of the night. It wasn't _his_ fault that he immediately thought it was an enemy Mafioso there to take him out. And it certainly wasn't _his_ fault that his hands had instinctively reached for a stick of dynamite and tossed it at the pest, resulting in not only the obliteration of the creature but also the wall separating his and Tsubame's apartments.

Okay, so maybe it was his fault.

"And since you can't pay for the repairs, despite being from a wealthy family, you're treating me to lunch. And dinner. And whatever I like."

Gokudera shrugged and looked away. He couldn't tell her that his pride wouldn't allow him to grovel to his family for more money. It was bad enough that they were paying for his stay in Namimori. "If you want the wall repaired, why don't you pay for it yourself?" he said instead.

"My family isn't obscenely rich," she replied, scowling. "Besides, I have to save what little allowance I get for rent and everything." The landlord hadn't made his move yet, so Tsubame assumed that the payment was a monthly occurrence.

"Tch. Whatever."

Tsubame rolled her eyes as she held out her hand for her bottle. Gokudera was fiddling with the lid when a miniature tornado whipped through the streets, and everyone stared in surprise when they realised that the cause was Tsuna, in all his half-naked glory.

Though Tsubame had had the misfortune of witnessing his Dying Will form countless times already, it never ceased to amaze her. Not just because the esteemed Tenth Vongola Boss was practically in the nude (though it was always fun to see what design his underwear had that day) but also because of the sheer power and determination he possessed. It was like he was a different person entirely.

"Tenth!" screamed Gokudera. "Let me assist you!" He leapt off his stool and rushed forward, tossing aside the bottle of water Tsubame had so graciously given him. The explosives expert was so focused on his beloved boss that he forgot about Tsubame entirely, and so didn't notice when the open bottle dumped its contents all over her. She was instantly soaked.

And she was going to _kill_ Gokudera.

As Tsubame entertained morbid fantasises concerning Gokudera's well-being, she almost didn't notice Tsuna, who was charging towards to her like a bull. Before she could dive out of the way, her friend barrelled straight into her, sending her crashing into the ground.

Great. Not only was she wet, but she was dirty, too. As she righted both herself and the stool, she mentally added Tsuna's name to her List.

The moment the chair was standing once more, a small form jumped onto it. "Master!" the infant cried, her accent peeking through her panic. "I-Pin made mistake!"

The Violent Vendor straightened in realisation, causing Tsubame's eyes to widen dramatically. She had _never_ seen the man react so strongly before. And I-Pin had called him 'master'…

Understanding slammed into her like a crazed Vongola boss-in-training. That man—that eccentric, placid street merchant—taught I-Pin everything she knew?! _Holy shit._

Like with Bianchi, Tsubame had heard of I-Pin before. The only difference was that she had witnessed I-Pin's prowess with her own eyes, which was both amazing and infuriating; Tsubame didn't doubt that the toddler could take her down in seconds.

Shame coursed through her like lava, instantly warming her shivering body. She watched the powerful infant trail behind Tsuna as he dashed back, her dark eyes simmering with envy. It was nothing but humiliating knowing that such a little girl could end Tsubame's life as easily as she could an ant.

Automatically, Tsubame's hand reached for the crown of her head. Wrapped around her ponytail was the DC's armband, a smattering of ruby and gold amongst an expanse of black. For the first time, Tsubame questioned the significance of the banner. Sure, it kept everyone off her back since it was a glaring symbol of power – but it meant nothing when the owner had no real power. It was nothing but a lie.

Tsubame hated liars.

Facing I-Pin's master, Tsubame executed a perfect ninety-degree bow. _Mum would be proud,_ she mused. Her torso was directly parallel to the ground as she said, in a loud but clear voice, "Please teach me."

There was a rustling of clothing, as if I-Pin's master had shifted in surprise. "I'm sorry?" he asked. His voice was soft and soothing, though ringing with confusion.

Tsubame straightened, fists clenched at her sides as she stared right through the man's shades. "I-Pin, though she barely reaches most people's knees, is powerful enough to take out a fully grown man because of your tutelage. If you don't mind," she stammered, her speech rushed as she forced out her pathetic pleas, "I'd like you to teach me, too."

The skilled assassin remained so still Tsubame was afraid he had been replaced by a dummy. Before she could say or do anything to confirm her suspicions, he said, in a voice so quiet that she strained to hear, "Why?"

What? "To…grow stronger," she replied, uncertain.

"Why?"

Her brow furrowed as her mind buzzed with activity. She was being put through some kind of test that required a noble, selfless answer. Too bad she none.

She vaguely heard I-Pin's master sigh. "I cannot train those with unsteady hearts. Return to me when you have unearthed your true reason."

As she reached her home, the muffled roaring in her ears finally receded. Head hung low, she made to unlock her door, but her keys slid out of her lax grip and fell onto the grey ground with a dull thud. Heaving a sigh, she made to pick them up.

Before she could reach for it, however, someone beat her to the chase. Blinking, Tsubame righted herself and watched as her neighbour handed her the keys with a small smile.

"Thank you," she said, "but you didn't need to do that, Shoichi-san."

The redhead smiled tentatively. "It's no trouble. After seeing how terrible you looked, I couldn't help myself. Uh, no!" he yelped, fumbling with his brown glasses. "I didn't mean that—!"

"Huh?" she murmured. Upon glancing down at her sorry state, she muttered an "Oh." Her shirt—still damp thanks to her impromptu shower—was coloured with dirt and gravel after her spectacular fall. It was a wonder she hadn't felt the sharp bite of the wind as she raced home, but she supposed her mind was too preoccupied.

"A-Are you okay, Tsubame-san?"

Speaking of questions, if someone asked what weapon was the best in the world, they'd receive a plethora of answers ranging from the typical guns and knives to the not-so-typical bazookas and nukes. For Tsubame, the best weapon in the world was the power of words.

Certain words could make or break a person, depending on who they were. Everyone had a specific set of words that made them tic – a key code that could either empower or dismantle them.

And Irie Shoichi had just punched in Tsubame's.

Panic swelled within Shoichi as he watched Tsubame's shoulders slump down even further. "What's wrong, Tsubame-san?!" he cried. "Are you alright?!"

"Not really."

"Do you… Do you want to come over for a bit?"

The smallest of smiles lit up her face. "Sure," she said. "But let me clean up first."

Shoichi scrambled into his apartment and tidied up the small mess he had inadvertently created when he tripped over a wayward book. His whole family was out for the day, which saved him a good deal of trouble in having to explain the present situation. Still, he could've used their help right now; they understood people better than he did.

 _If only people were as simple as machines,_ he thought to himself with a sigh.

How did one go about cheering people up? As Shoichi reminisced his own bouts of despondency (though few and far between) an epiphany struck him. With a small cry of delight, the redhead pushed his glasses back into place and raced around the kitchen. Tsubame shuffled into his home in the meanwhile, closing the door he had left open for her. Once his mission was complete, he plopped down onto the seat across her and handed her the fruit of his labours.

Shoichi smiled nervously. "For you," he said, inching the steaming mug closer to her.

Mechanically, Tsubame brought the cup to her lips and sipped. Warmth trickled into her system, and she asked, "What is it?"

"Hot chocolate. You've never had it before?"

No, she had. Plenty of times, in fact. But Shoichi's concoction was far too diluted, and she was pretty sure the drink should have been a rich shade of chocolate brown, not the murky colour she was looking at. It actually looked more like a watered-down version of mud rather than its intended blend.

"I have," she said. "Just not one like this before."

Shoichi stared at her intently before sighing. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Tsubame smiled slightly, but said nothing.

The sight lifted his mood somewhat. It wasn't a complete success, but at least some of the light had returned in her dark eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" she murmured, gaze remaining averted. She studied the worn table top, tracing the minute scratches and dents here and there. Her finger accidentally caught one of the indentations, and chipped away some of the wood.

But Shoichi didn't notice. He was too busy staring at her in bemusement. "Uh, no real reason," he claimed. "You just looked like you needed some help."

"I don't understand," she admitted. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't think of anyone who would do what Shoichi just did. If Hibari or Gokudera had been the ones to discover her, they would have dismissed her with a scathing comment or two, not ask about her well-being or try to cheer her up. Hell, even Yamamoto and Tsuna wouldn't have gone to such lengths for her – if they even noticed in the first place. So why would Shoichi—a practical stranger—do so much for her?

"Uh, well, I just thought it would have been bad if I just left you like that," stammered Shoichi. "I'm sure you would have done the same for me."

Tsubame swallowed another mouthful of the chocolate-coloured water. "Why were you out there in the first place?"

"My mum wanted to invite you to dinner," he confessed, blushing lightly.

"Oh." Oddness ran in the family, it seemed. "Why?"

Shoichi's fidgeted with his glasses. "Um…" Because she pitied Tsubame. Because she thought the girl was a perfect match for Shoichi – someone brave and autonomous who could protect her cowardly son. Because his mum admired cool, pretty people. "No particular reason."

Tsubame raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Truthfully, she wasn't looking forward to spending a night interacting with people she hardly knew, but she couldn't refuse. Not only did they take the time and effort to consider her, Shoichi had shown her more kindness than she thought was possible. To reject their offer was like slapping them right in their faces.

"She's out buying groceries now," said Shoichi. "I think we're having hamburgers."

Tsubame smiled beneath the rim of her mug. Now she really couldn't decline.


	12. Of Fairness and Friendship

XII

 _Of Fairness and Friendship_

Shoichi left school with a smile on his lips. The winter holidays had officially begun, and he foresaw several stress-free weeks in his near future.

It faded as he reached the school gate. Crowded around it were a bunch of guys from his class. Whereas Shoichi had used his brains to get into class 2-A, they had used their brawn by bullying other, brighter students to do their work for them.

The sight of them made his stomach lurch. Part of him wanted to shove them straight off of their high horses. But it was all just wishful thinking. As he neared the trio and their immaculate uniforms, Shoichi bowed his head and locked his gaze onto the phone charm dangling out of his bag. It was originally a white knight, but after weeks of being tossed onto the ground as Shoichi tripped and tumbled—accidentally or otherwise—the miniature figurine was caked in a fine layer of dirt and grime, its white sheen now a bleak grey.

Gazing at the item only twisted his gut further. It had been a gift from his only friend. ("Even though I won it, you paid for the game so it's only right that you get the prize," she had said, blasé, as she handed him the trinket. He refused, of course, but she wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.) While attending such a studious school was beneficial for his academics, it was devastatingly detrimental when it came to his social skills. The classrooms were always fraught with tension as students competed against each other for the better grade and rank. Almost no one indulged in solid friendships – the most Shoichi had achieved was a mutually beneficial relationship with his classmates, where they assisted each other with homework and assessments.

Besides, who wanted to befriend someone who epitomised the term "nerd"? _Well_ , Shoichi amended with a smile, _there is one person_. He glanced down at his little knight, wondering what she was doing now.

"How about you shove a pineapple up your ass?"

Shoichi's head shot up so quickly it _hurt_. He knew that voice. It was one that brightened his day, the one that made him chuckle and made him sigh, as well as occasionally shriek. It was the voice of his only friend.

Tsubame seemed even smaller surrounded by the towering trio. They glared down at her, leers plastered across their unpleasant faces. She responded with that unnerving blank stare of hers, looking as if she hadn't a care in the world. But Shoichi knew better than that. Even from this distance, he could see the tightness of her posture, the taut muscles of her bare arms and legs twitching in preparation for an attack.

One of the boys edged closer to her. "What was that?" he challenged.

Tsubame didn't flinch at the venom in his tone or the rage swirling in his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, and they seemed mollified. However, she wasn't done yet. "I wasn't aware your hearing was impaired. It must be hard, seeing how you're also intellectually inept."

"What?!"

Shoichi inhaled sharply. Before he knew it, he was sprinting towards them, and was able to hear the offender-turned-offended yell, "You're the one whose senses are impaired! Use your eyes, sweetheart, and look at our uniforms." He jutted his chest forward like a preening bird, brandishing the school's emblem.

Tsubame barely glanced at the vibrant crest. Interest quickly waning, she released a yawn, fully conscious of how the innocent act would make the bullies see red. Speaking of which, she was beginning to see a dash of red in the corner of _her_ eye.

Turning away, and ignoring the growls of those before her, Tsubame smiled as she spotted Shoichi. His shaggy head of hair flew wildly in the wind like a red halo as he raced towards her. He was by her side in less than a second, wide-eyed and breathless.

When he steadied himself, the first thing Shoichi said was, "Senpai! Please forgive our rudeness!"

Tsubame's smile immediately flipped into a frown. Before she could protest, though, the redhead grabbed her arm and shouted, "Run!"

Fortunately, she and Shoichi were of roughly the same height, so she kept up with him effortlessly. By the time they finally came to a halt, the school was out of sight, and its student was struggling to catch his breath.

"You okay, Shoichi-san?" asked Tsubame, digging through her bag in search of her bottle. She handed it to the winded boy, who accepted it gratefully. As he sipped the cool water, Tsubame noted with pleasant surprise that they weren't far from their apartment complex.

"Thank you," said Shoichi as his huffs and puffs lessened. "But Tsubame-kun," he sighed, "I really wish you wouldn't start fights."

She scowled. "It wasn't a fight. And I didn't start it, either."

He sighed once more, too tired to argue. It was pretty pointless, anyway; Tsubame was practically a magnet for trouble. In the several weeks he had known her, the strange girl had been involved in at least six fights, most of them spiralling into the physical. Before things could get out of hand—well, even more so—Shoichi would diffuse the tension with placating pleas and, when that failed, grabbed Tsubame's hand and ran as if the hounds of hell themselves were nipping at their heels.

Seeing Shoichi's slumped shoulders, Tsubame's gut writhed guiltily. "Sorry," she murmured.

Her friend smiled. "It's okay," he assured her. "I'm sure you had your reasons."

Of course, that only made her feel worse.

"So, why were you at my school?" he asked curiously.

Tsubame latched onto the change of topic happily. "To see you, of course," she said wryly.

Shoichi stared. "Really?"

"Well, kind of," she admitted. "I was actually racing my friend, but I lost track of him and wound up in this area. I headed towards the largest building I could find, though, since chances were it'd be an official establishment. Turns out that was your school. I recognised the uniform and name, so I figured I'd wait until you came out and help me. So," she continued, smirking, "in a way, it was to see you."

"Right," he deadpanned. With a smile and slight shake of his head, he began walking towards the main road. "Where are you meeting your friend?"

"At the sushi restaurant," she replied, falling in step beside him.

"Oh, the one that belongs to the baseball player? Yamamoto Takeshi, right?"

"You remember his name?"

"Kind of hard not to when you don't stop talking about him," he mumbled, fiddling with glasses. Upon registering how he sounded, Shoichi flinched. "S-Sorry! That's not what—"

But Tsubame effectively cut him off by punching his arm. "Of course I talk about him a lot," she said. "He's my first friend."

Shoichi's cry of pain immediately died in his throat. "Oh. I understand."

"But," she added thoughtfully, "that doesn't mean he's my closest friend. That spot belongs to someone else."

Grey eyes widened with curiosity, though they quickly dimmed with hesitancy. "Really?" he asked, sounding far too excited even to his own ears. "Who?"

Tsubame shot Shoichi a secretive smirk. She opened her mouth to reply, but a purple blur raced by, knocking into them. Tsubame managed to retain her footing as she glared at the retreating figure. Shoichi hadn't been so lucky. He was sprawled on the road, groaning and rubbing his sore head. Huffing in amusement, Tsubame reached down and pulled him up in one smooth movement.

"Ah, thanks," said Shoichi, dusting himself off. "What _was_ that?"

Tsubame grimaced in response. She recognised that long, flowing head of peach-coloured hair and dark, tight clothing. That was Bianchi alright. And where Bianchi was, Tsuna and his gang were sure to appear. Which meant trouble was soon to follow.

"Shoichi," she sighed, "I think you should run while you still can."

The bespectacled boy's noise of confusion escalated into a startled shout as the street exploded with noise and smoke. He yelped once more as a strange black and white ball fell from the sky, crashing into him and wailing all the while.

Flashy explosions? A crying, flying ball? Oh no. Tsubame knew exactly what was coming.

As though he had read her mind, Lambo shot up from his comfy perch on Shoichi's chest. She could still make it if she ran right now; the little cow wouldn't notice her until she was long gone. But that would mean abandoning Shoichi, leaving him alone to face the brat by himself. Even Tsubame wasn't _that_ heartless.

"Gahaha!" laughed the obnoxious child. "Lambo-san meant to do that!"

Then again…

It wasn't like she _hated_ Lambo. The kid was simply annoying. And loud. Tsubame was a firm believer in silence being golden, and Lambo wouldn't know silence even if it electrocuted him. Even when half-conscious, he was constantly muttering and even screeching in his sleep. Despite his inability to grasp the concept of peace and quiet, the kid was pretty adorable, what with his afro and cow suit. If only she could somehow destroy his voice box…

"Oh," chirped Lambo, "it's Tsubame!"

Squatting down, Tsubame plucked Lambo from Shoichi's torso, allowing the poor boy to finally sit up. "What are you doing here, Lambo?" she asked.

"Lambo-san was doing an eat and run!" he exclaimed proudly, his rear end wriggling as well as his clip-on tail. It drooped sadly when Tsubame scowled in disapproval. "Uh, Lambo-san was _not_ doing an eat and run," he amended sheepishly, avidly avoiding her stern gaze.

Grimacing, Tsubame stood up, Lambo still in her hands. "We're going to go back and apologise," she said, her tone allowing no room for argument.

But Lambo wasn't known as a cow without good reason; his stubbornness was clear indicator of that. "No!" he screamed, and Tsubame winced. She instinctively dropped the writhing, whining toddler. "Lambo-san won't go!"

"You'll get candy."

He stilled immediately. "Really?" he asked, his childish voice guarded. Good reason, too, because the last time Tsubame had promised him candy, she had disappeared the moment her job was done.

Tsubame nodded. Lambo would get candy; not necessarily from her, or in the near future, but he'd get some eventually.

"Yay! Candy!" With a spring in his step, Lambo began to guide them back to the restaurant he had robbed.

Before setting off, Tsubame turned to Shoichi. A frown tugged on her lips as she eyed his dishevelled hair, dirty clothing and scraped skin. The way he was eyeing Lambo set her on edge, too – it was as if the kid was Death itself coming after him, judging by the short, shallow breaths of his. "I think you should head home, Shoichi-san. God knows what mess Lambo'll drag me into."

He finally broke his wide-eyed gaze at the dancing brat. "A-Are you sure?" he asked, nervously fixing his glasses into place.

"Yeah. I mean, look how badly you're shaken up," she murmured, grabbing his trembling hand to reinforce her words. She placed his palm in between both of hers until the shaking stilled. Huh. She never noticed how small his hands were.

Shaking her head to dismiss her wandering thoughts, Tsubame bade Shoichi farewell as she chased after the singing Lambo. In her haste, she didn't pick up the way Shoichi's face flared, the colour of his cheeks matching that of his fiery hair.

It wasn't until they were in the heart of town that Tsubame remembered about Yamamoto. Fortunately, the restaurant Lambo had practically mugged belonged to her friend…which could also be unfortunate, depending on the circumstances.

Scooping Lambo into her arms, Tsubame entered the establishment – and was met with utter chaos. The quaint restaurant was assaulted by screams and shouts, which sounded horrifyingly familiar to her ears. Even without looking, Tsubame knew that the frustrated growls belonged to Gokudera, the startled yelps to Yamamoto and the woeful cries to Tsuna. Lambo decided to accompany the symphony of shrieks by squirming in her grasp, whinging about how he wanted to "eat the big fish!" on display.

Learning from her past mistakes, Tsubame clutched the fidgety boy tighter. "Don't forget the candy, Lambo," she said, and the cow went limp in her grip.

"Lambo-san's sorry!" he wailed, though any sincerity in his words was automatically ruled out by the way he was eying the tuna. She couldn't really blame her; it really did look deliciously fresh.

Lambo's shrieks managed to drag the teens out of the kitchen. Tsuna, Gokudera and Yamamoto greeted her with varying degrees of enthusiasm. She could practically feel the love from Gokudera's grumbling, but seeing him soaked to the elbows in soapy bubbles made up for it.

"What are you doing here, Tsubame-san?" asked Tsuna, who was looking worse for wear.

She frowned. "I could ask you the same thing. But I'm here to hang with Yamamoto. Oh, and this," she added, holding Lambo up. "He was eating and running… You guys don't know anything about this, do you?"

"Nope," a horrifically high-pitched voice claimed behind her. Tsubame turned to see the devil himself, who had a suspicious grain of rice on the side of his over-sized head.

"Reborn!" scolded Tsuna. "Don't lie!"

"You're right, Tsuna," he said gravely, before chirping, "After all, you were also a part of this crime."

As Bianchi snuck in with her poisonous purple eyes glued to the massive fish in the corner, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "You guys are going to be the death of me," she prophesised, once Tsuna had tried and failed to reprimand Reborn. "I'll help you out."

Tsuna's answering grin was blinding. "Really?" he cried. "Are you sure?"

Tsubame nodded, smiling. A few seconds later she was sorely regretting her decision.

"Ah, Gokudera-kun!" moaned Tsuna. "You broke another plate!"

"That's another thousand yen," sighed Yamamoto. There was an ear-shattering crash. "Two thousand…"

As Gokudera hastened to clean the mess, Tsubame said in a constrained voice, "Gokudera, do you remember that stall manned by that guy in purple? You know, the one where you ditched me after dumping water all over me?"

"Yes," he muttered ruefully. No doubt he recalled the well-deserved punishment she had dished out to him as a result. "What about it?"

"I need you to run down and buy a snack for me." Peering out the doorway, she noted a certain cow child pressed up against the glass of the display case, no doubt drooling over the ecstasies being showcased. "Take Lambo as well. Buy him candy."

"Why can't you go?"

Because she had been avoiding I-pin's master ever since her rejection. Because his presence was a constant reminder of how weak she was. Because she loathed the invasive feeling of his speculative eyes on her, watching her like she was a circus animal.

Tsubame turned to Tsuna and Yamamoto, whose faces radiated with curiosity. "Have I told you guys about that time Gokudera blew up my wall?"

"Ah! Stop!" cried Gokudera, his face reddening in mortification. "I'm going, I'm going!"

A satisfied smirk worked its way up to her lips as her neighbour fled from the room, snatching Lambo up as he went. It quickly faded once she noticed yet another dilemma.

"Yamamoto-san?" she called as the man rifled through the kitchen for some utensils. "Is that huge fish over there special?"

"Hm?" he hummed, turning to look into the dining area. "You mean the tuna? Yeah, it's reserved for a huge party tonig— Hey!" he cried suddenly, rushing outside. "Stop right there!"

"Pops?" asked the younger Yamamoto once his father returned. "What's up?"

Yamamoto Senior's contrite frown quickly morphed into a relaxed smile. "Just a couple of punks trying to get their hands on the tuna. I chased them away, though it was a close call." He turned to Tsubame, lips splitting into a grin as he ruffled her hair. "Thank you."

Ducking her head, Tsubame tentatively smoothed out her locks. "No problem," she murmured, a soft smile blooming across her face.

The brilliant feeling remained with her hours later. It refused to dissipate even as she slaved over the sink, rinsing dish after dish and cup after cup until her fingers began to prune and her arms creak. Then again, it probably helped that Yamamoto and Tsuna were by her side, with the former washing and the latter drying. Even Gokudera was helping out, after having returned from his errand, collecting the dishes and storing them in their place. They functioned like a well-oiled machine.

As they worked, Tsubame learnt of how Tsuna had managed to get himself into this mess in the first place. Apparently, Reborn had taken Tsuna, Bianchi and Lambo out to the restaurant on the pretence that it was his treat and, the moment they had finished eating, the three mafioso had fled.

She aimed a disbelieving look at Tsuna. "And you just…let it happen?"

"It's more complicated than that. I mean, it's _Reborn_ ," exclaimed Tsuna, as if that explained everything. In a way, it did. One had as much control over the renowned hitman as they did over a forest fire.

"You'd be crazy to stand up against Reborn-san," affirmed Gokudera.

Yamamoto noticed her growing discomfort. "Something wrong, Tsubame?" he asked.

Tsubame grimaced. "I sort of – kind of – maybe _defied_ Reborn-san."

While Tsuna paled dramatically and even Yamamoto looked a tad stunned, Gokudera patted her shoulder gruffly. And that freaked her out the most. It was a consoling pat – one that was handed out during a funeral, or when someone was about to meet their doom. _Rest in peace_ , it said.

She heaved a sigh. _Great_. Who didn't love getting into a hitman's bad books?

Feeling uneasy, Tsubame excused herself for a bit of fresh air. When she stepped out of the restaurant, she was surprised to note that night had fallen. There was a chill in the air, which nipped at her exposed skin and moist hands. It was a good thing she didn't have to walk home in these conditions, and she silently thanked Yamamoto for allowing them all to stay for the night, seeing how it was late and they would probably end up collapsing in the middle of the road out of fatigue.

Reborn had a lot of work to do, it seemed. Tsubame's lips pinched together as the thought drifted through her mind. Speaking of the demon…

A gust of wind burst by, carrying the unfortunately familiar stench of gunpowder and aroma of rich coffee beans. As the scents wafted up her nose, a bang resounded in the streets, and Tsubame instantly ducked. Several seconds ticked by and Tsubame got to her feet.

Her blood ran cold as she gazed at the brick wall she had been leaning against. There was a red splatter in the middle of it, perfectly corresponding with where her chest would have been had she not moved in time. Her nose twitched as something foul permeated the air. Was- Was that paint?

Ah. The gunpowder, the coffee, the gunshot and the paint. It all pointed to one suspect.

Tsubame sighed. "You can come out," she said to the allegedly empty street.

The shadows seemed to part as a man clothed in black stepped into the glare of the streetlight. His dark eyes glinted. "I'm surprise you evaded my shot," he admitted, lips curling into an amused smirk.

 _I'm surprised no one has strangled you yet._ Tsubame ran a hand through her bangs as she took a moment to collect herself. Finally, she said, "I'm not surprised that you shot me in the first place."

"Think of it as a warning – so you don't do anything stupid like interfere with my actions again."

Tsubame barely refrained from rolling her eyes. "I doubt allowing you to pig out on Yamamoto-san's food constitutes such severity, Reborn-san," she drawled.

"Don't be naïve," Reborn said dismissively. Were she anyone else, Tsubame would have laughed incredulously at the fact that a _toddler_ had just uttered those words. "It's the principle of the matter."

"You know I'm not one to challenge your actions, Reborn-san. Despite how questionable they seem, when it comes down to it, they're for our benefit. I don't like it, but…" What could she do? This was the mafia, not a child's game. Yet here she was – a mere teenager who couldn't even accomplish what a five-year-old girl with poor vision could.

"Still," she continued, "I don't approve of needlessly burdening others. I hope you can respect that."

Vongola's top hitman twirled his green gun absentmindedly. "It's a good thing you speak well," he noted, the divergence throwing Tsubame off slightly. "Fine. I understand. But," he added with a smirk, eradicating her short-lived relief, "are you willing to bear with the consequences?"

Tsubame stared at him long and hard before nodding her head infinitesimally.

Reborn smiled in self-satisfaction, and Tsubame valiantly ignored the way her stomach twisted at the sight. "Good." His voice was practically brimming with pleasure. "Now, let's go inside and join the party. Have you ever played Russian Roulette before?" he asked over his shoulder, and though the blinding lights of the restaurant threw shadows across his entire body, Tsubame was certain he was smirking.

She sighed. This was going to be one hell of a winter break.


	13. Of Breaks and Bombshells

XIII

 _Of Breaks and Bombshells_

As it usually did whenever Tsubame foretold her misfortune, she wound up being painfully accurate. Though break lasted a mere two weeks, it was probably the most eventual fortnight she'd experienced in a long time. One guess as to why.

Still, she'd be lying if she said she hadn't enjoyed herself. For the first time in years, Tsubame had celebrated Christmas – and not by simply throwing on red and green clothes. She had a light-hearted lunch with the Iries, who welcomed her with oddly open arms. Then she had dinner with the Sawadas, which was a ton more catastrophic, involving a poisoned pudding, a nauseous mountain of goo Lambo _swore_ was jelly, an exploding roast chicken and, of course, life-endangering gifts courtesy of Reborn. The night ended in (slightly unhinged) laughter, so she couldn't complain much.

Christmas paled dramatically compared to New Year's, however. When Reborn had sent her an invitation (via a messenger pigeon, obviously) to join Tsuna and his gang in some Vongola-style battle, she was rather wary. She had already experienced a Vongolian sleepover and a Vongolian Christmas, and she _still_ had nightmares about them. Needless to say, she wasn't too eager to participate in another Vongolian event any time soon, if ever.

But when she tried to circle the 'no' option, the docile pigeon suddenly did a one-eighty, and began attacking Tsubame with a vengeance. After several minutes of yelping and running like a maniac, she finally conceded and circled 'yes'. Satisfied, the demonic pigeon instantly settled down and returned to its equally monstrous owner.

True, she could have avoided it anyway. Sadly, though, she was someone who kept her word and frankly, the thought of rejecting Reborn almost drove her mad with fear. So it was with a heavy heart that she dragged herself over to Tsuna's house.

Naturally, things only went downhill from there.

* * *

Gokudera withdrew a cigarette and twirled it in his fingers. Now that the New Year's battle had ended and he was on his way home, he was free to light it and inhale a delicious breath of nicotine. He was just bringing it to his lips when a disdainful voice said, "Can you not?"

Behind him was Tsubame, her footfalls impossibly quiet as she trailed after him. He seriously hated when she snuck up on him.

He reluctantly lowered his cigarette and shot her a dirty look, which she blithely ignored. More likely, she didn't notice it. She was completely wrapped up in her thoughts, judging by that tight, pensive expression of hers.

"What's wrong?" he asked gruffly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wasn't exactly proficient in dealing with emotional crap.

She barely glanced at him. "Nothing," she said, but they both knew it was a lie.

In all honesty, Gokudera was already aware of what was bugging her. It was the same thing eating at him – they had performed terribly at the tournament Reborn had set up for them. The Chiavarone destroyed them, both in terms of the battle and their spirits. It was mortifying, and he knew it was just a game, but still…

The journey to the apartment building continued in silence. As Gokudera fiddled with his unlit cancer stick, he thought about how to progress. Normally, he would've shrugged and allowed the topic to drop. But then he thought of the Tenth and his large, brown eyes narrowed in disapproval and disappointment. Tenth would press on, because that was the kind of boss he was – benevolent and selfless, and always concerned for his famiglia. The kind of boss Gokudera had vowed to follow for the rest of his life. He couldn't let him down.

So he forced out a, "Sure?"

"It's just…" Tsubame bit her lower lip uncertainly. "Never mind. But thank you," she added, shooting him a small, sincere smile.

Grunting, Gokudera busied himself by returning his cigarette in its box as he fought his pleased blush. Looked like lending a hand now and then wasn't so bad after all.

As he pocketed the package, however, he noticed the distinct lack of noise. Hastily rummaging through his clothes, he realised that he had forgotten his keys. _Great._

"Everything alright?" Tsubame asked as they ascended the stairs.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I just need to go in with you." The hole that he had (accidentally) blown in their shared wall was large enough to allow him to pass through, so at least he wouldn't have to break into his own place…again.

"Oh," Tsubame murmured, a puzzled frown on her lips. As she extracted her keys, though, realisation dawned and her lips quirked into a smirk. "You forgot them, didn't you?" she asked, jingling her own set in emphasis.

"Just open the door," he grumbled. The more his face flushed with embarrassment, the larger Tsubame's smirk grew.

"Is that any way to talk to someone doing you a favour?" she teased, inching her door open.

Before Gokudera could retort, he saw all the laughter drain from her face, leaving pure shock in its wake. Tsubame's eyes narrowed and her jaw locked as she breathed, "What are you doing here?"

Peering over her shoulder (which wasn't very difficult, seeing how he had half a head on her) Gokudera saw a man and woman lounging in the middle of Tsubame's living room. The latter's face was harsh and severe, so much so that even the makeup she wore couldn't hide the strict lines cutting into her features. Comparatively, though, the latter was so plain that he almost flew under Gokudera's radar entirely. Average height and weight, the man's only defining characteristic were his solemn black eyes, which seemed capable of piercing another and staring straight into their souls. They were both dressed in strict suits, which practically screamed _mafia._

The sight of the unfamiliar faces so casually invading his neighbour's territory sent Gokudera's inner alarms ringing, and he grabbed a handful of bombs in preparation. Generally, his rule was to explode first and ask questions later, but Tsubame's apparent familiarity—if hostility—towards them made him stay his hand. For now.

The sofa creaked as the couple rose from their seats. Gokudera's muscles tensed as the unknowns stalked closer towards them, and he could see Tsubame doing the same. They made no threatening moves, but began speaking instead.

"What do you mean?" asked the man, his voice surprisingly soft and smooth. His brow was raised inquisitively and for some reason, the gesture struck Gokudera as familiar. "Aren't we allowed to visit our own daughter?"

It was a good thing Gokudera hadn't been smoking, otherwise he'd be choking on clouds of nicotine. "Daughter?" he cried, staring at Tsubame incredulously. She was stiff as a board. "These are your parents?"

The woman—Tsubame's _mother—_ sniffed loudly. "And who are you?" she demanded, her murky eyes flitting from the rings on his ears to those on his fingers.

Gokudera scowled, ready to give this pompous hag a piece of his mind, before Tsubame stepped in. Literally. She walked into the apartment, closing the door behind Gokudera as he exited the cold. The room wasn't much warmer, though.

"This is Gokudera, my neighbour," she said flatly. "Gokudera, these are my…parents – who decided to break into my place, apparently."

"Don't be so dramatic," huffed the woman. "We have a key from when we helped you move in, remember?"

The dark look on Tsubame's face told Gokudera that she couldn't care less. "What are you doing here?" she repeated, fists clenched.

The woman's red lips parted to argue back, but the man interrupted her by announcing, "It's the holidays. We're here to visit you."

It seemed a good enough reason as any to Gokudera, but Tsubame thought otherwise. "I've been here for half a year and you come to visit me now, during the busiest time of the year," she said, tone drier than dust. "Somehow, I doubt the only reason you're here is for a house-call."

"You're right," admitted Tsubame's father. He ran a hand through his black hair, just like his daughter did when she was uneasy. "We're here to take you home."

What the-? Shock coursed through Gokudera's system and, when he turned to gape at Tsubame, he found her stiff as a statue. "What?" she whispered, the horrific notion causing her voice to drop several volumes. "Why…? I don't— No. You can't."

Tsubame's mother scoffed, and Gokudera wanted to blow off that perpetual look of derision off of her face. "You'll find that we can and will send you home with us."

"Really?" she spat. "How?"

"Who do you think pays for your rent, dumb girl? Your bills? Your school fees?"

Tsubame's stunned expression declared that she hadn't even given a thought to all those factors. Gokudera's folks gave him an allotted set of funds each month to help him get by, though just barely. They probably wanted him to come crawling back and beg for some more, but there was no way in hell he was going to do that.

"I…" Tsubame took a deep breath. "Why take me back now? After trying so hard to kick me out?"

"It was for your own good," claimed her father. But something about his eyes made Gokudera feel as if he were telling the truth. They were oddly gentle and earnest – another trait he shared with Tsubame.

She must have noticed it, too. "What do you mean?" she asked, voice thick with confusion.

"Why must you be so difficult?" screeched the hag. "Why can't you just listen to us for once?"

"Oh, because you two _always_ listen to me!"

"That's different! We're your parents; we know what's good for you!"

"Which was why you abandoned me to live on my own?"

The woman's nostrils flared as she huffed, and Gokudera couldn't help but compare the sight to that of a bull preparing to strike. "We did it to keep you out of danger, you ungrateful child!"

Though he felt intensely uncomfortable witnessing such a private—not to mention passionate—moment, Gokudera couldn't help but snort at that. They sent her away to keep her safe, yet she wound up joining the mafia. The irony was too much.

Fortunately, that snapped the women out of their argument. They both turned their attention to him, and Gokudera felt the combined power of identical glares. He fought the urge to swallow nervously.

"Right. I'm going to go now," he decided tactfully. With that, he walked outside as he quick as he could without breaking into a run. His fingers fumbled for a much-needed cigarette.

As Tsubame watched her friend flee, she felt the fury drain from her system, leaving utter confusion in its wake. Collapsing onto one of the few chairs surrounding the dining table, she waved a hand to the two remaining seats for her parents. Once they obliged—though her mother's nose wrinkled with distaste at the mountains of books cluttered on the table top—she instructed them to start from the beginning.

Her father locked his dark gaze with hers. "What do you remember of your cousin?"

It wasn't difficult to decipher who he was referring to – Tsubame had only one cousin she knew of. She chewed her lip thoughtfully, and ignored her mother's tut of disapproval. "Not much," she confessed. After all, she had only seen him once in her life, and that was ten years ago.

Her father nodded, probably having expected as much. "That'll make this a lot easier."

"Make what easier?"

"Tsubame, your cousin Chikusa is in jail," her mother interrupted with an exasperated huff. Turning to her husband, she said, "You were taking too long."

Out of all the possible admissions, Tsubame hadn't even come close to suspecting _that_ revelation. She would have been less shaken had her parents informed her that they were actually cyborgs who had found her on the side of the road and decided to take her under their wing.

"What?" she whispered once she had found her voice. Chikusa—the sweet, shy boy who abhorred jumping in puddles because it would ruin his clothes, who couldn't even peer down the road without his glasses, who had thoughtlessly jumped into the pool to save Tsubame from a watery death—was a criminal?

"You're joking, right?" she asked, the hysteria hitching her voice up a few decibels. When her father refused to meet her eyes and even her mother looked uncomfortable, Tsubame took a deep, shuddering breath. "Explain."

Here was the deal: Chikusa and his father were part of the mafia. The man had always been rather harsh, so it was a miracle in itself that Tsubame's father had managed to bring the boy over to Japan during one of his rare holidays. It was the first and last time Tsubame had seen her cousin, because things soon turned for the worst the moment they returned to Italy. Her father had suspected it to be the disgusting mafia business, though he didn't know any specifics.

When Tsubame was nine and Chikusa ten, a tragedy befell the Kakimotos and their kind. Her father, having worked for the police force at that time, witnessed a horrific scene – numerous men, including Chikusa's father, had been brutally slain in a laboratory filled to the brim with gruesome machinery. They had been experimenting on humans, most likely children. Which included Chikusa, as well.

The boy's body was never found, but Tsubame's father hadn't seen him in several years, so he was either missing or had died long ago. Ridden by a horrifying mix of grief and revulsion, her father fled his homeland and moved to Japan with Mum and herself. He managed to put the entire ordeal behind him, until it reappeared and smacked him in face several months ago.

Chikusa and two others had been spotted leaving a crime scene littered with mutilated corpses. An old friend of Tsubame's father had informed him of the precarious situation, warning him that they could trace the boy's connections back to him. Fearing the worst, he sent his daughter to a distant town known for its peacefulness and plainness. Now that everything had blown over and Chikusa imprisoned, he deemed it safe for her to return.

By the time her parents finished speaking, Tsubame felt as if the rug had been wretched from beneath her feet. The world spun around her, the sudden vertigo causing her vision to swim and her chest to clench. She found it difficult to speak, to blink, to _breathe_. It was too much.

But her parents were staring at her expectantly, waiting for a suitable response. When she opened her mouth, though, the only sound she could manage was a strange, choking noise, like that of a dying bird.

"I…" she gasped. "I can't do this."

Without another warning, she jumped out of her chair, ignoring the way it screeched in protest as it grated against the wooden floorboards. She fled the flat, the door slamming behind her with a definitive _bang_.

* * *

 **A/N:** Did anyone see that coming? Hehe. If you go back and sift through the previous chapters, you'll see tidbits that lead up to this!


	14. Of Parents and the Past

**A/N:** Sorry for the late update! Was hanging with my friends for the past few weeks. A rare event, I assure you lol.

I'm reading a book called _Six of Crows_ by Leigh Bardugo. It's pretty great; feel free to check it out.

As always, enjoy!

* * *

XIV

 _Of Parents and the Past_

Running was an exhilarating experience. Feeling the cool air enveloping her body as she zoomed past blurred faces, savouring the burn of her muscles as she pumped her legs again and again, focusing on nothing but the wonderful repetitiveness of the motion as she lost sight of the world around her – that was what made it so brilliant.

Strange how, only months ago, the mere thought would've made her wrinkle her nose. One's perspective of life really did alter with time, as the past few months also brought her a new, unsettling outlook on her entire famil—

Tsubame's traitorous thoughts were tossed out of her mind as she collided into someone head-first. Feeling an odd sense of déjà vu (perhaps that was the nausea kicking in) she retreated a few steps while murmuring an apology. However, as she glanced up to meet the eyes of her victim-slash-offender, her frustration faltered. Dread took its place.

Which was ridiculous, considering the girl before her was possibly the kindest person Tsubame had ever met. Actually, that unwavering benevolence probably contributed to her wariness.

Kyoko smiled, unaware of the uncharitable notions stirring in Tsubame's mind. "Sorry, Kishino-chan," she chirped. "I didn't see where I was going." The longer she peered at her, however, the more her smile dimmed. "Is something wrong?"

Tsubame wondered how she looked at the moment. Her eyes were probably wild and crazed, her hair dishevelled and clothing rumpled from her sprint.

 _In, out._ "I'm fine," she claimed, but the way her voice cracked with emotion said otherwise.

Kyoko frowned hesitantly, her eyes warm with concern. "Are you sure?" Her worry seemed so genuine; Tsubame couldn't help but shake her head slightly.

"No," she admitted, keeping her eyes on the grey pavement. "Not really."

Kyoko shifted. "There's this lovely cake store nearby," she said, her voice light and inviting. "If go now, we can make it before they close for the day."

A refusal was on the tip of her tongue. As Tsubame raised her head to meet Kyoko's gaze, though, something stopped her. Kyoko's eyes were shining with eager expectancy, just like they did the time they first met. And Tsubame definitely didn't want to be responsible for snuffing out that light a second time. So she nodded.

Kyoko's blindingly bright grin was almost powerful enough to wipe away Tsubame's bad mood completely.

She allowed herself to be dragged along to the café and made an effort to tune in to Kyoko's constant chatter. It was a wonderful distraction from the thoughts raging through her mind. It was a bit strange, how much of a chatterbox Kyoko was; Tsubame had always pinned her as a quiet person, someone who enjoyed listening to others rather than speaking herself. Then again, it wasn't like Tsubame made a great conversation partner either.

Why on earth was she so kind to her?

It was only when Kyoko giggled that Tsubame realised that, to her horror, her question had been asked out loud. She was about to apologise for her word vomit when Kyoko surprised her once more by actually answering.

"I guess it's because you remind me of myself," she said, playing with a strand of caramel hair.

For a long time, the only noise between them was the rustling of Kyoko's numerous shopping bags. The girl in question was busy gazing skywards while Tsubame stared long and hard at her face. Kyoko was being serious.

"But…" Tsubame toyed with the sleeves of her sweater. "We're like water and oil. You're so nice and gentle, and I'm…not."

Kyoko's gaze probed her curiously. "You give yourself too little credit," she admonished, like a kindergarten teacher would to their student. But Kyoko only had good intentions in mind, so Tsubame let it go with a slight shrug. "I'm not just saying that," she insisted, looking at her straight in the eye. "I know how nice you are. Like that time when you climbed a tree to rescue that cat, even though it kept clawing at you, and how you always help students to the nurse's office and stay to ensure Shamal-sensei takes proper care of them, and," she continued, smiling softly, "how you return the items the very day they're confiscated by the prefects."

It seemed today was chock full of surprises. Tsubame could only stare in wide-eyed shock. "How…?"

Kyoko's lips curled into a coy smile. "I see and hear things. The people around me tend to talk a lot, and Hana-chan's always great at gathering information."

"That's impressive," she said, slightly awed. "Kinda creepy, but impressive."

Was that relief she spotted in Kyoko's eyes? Maybe she was imagining things.

She continued, "I can sort of see what you mean about us being alike."

"Oh," murmured Kyoko, sobering somewhat. "That wasn't what I meant." Her long, delicate fingers dipped into her shirt, extracting a silver locket that seemed vaguely familiar to Tsubame. Kyoko traced the smooth metal as she spoke, her eyes gaining a misty, faraway quality while her voice dropping a few notches. "This was my mother's necklace. She and my father passed on when I was twelve, and suddenly I had to look after both my brother and myself. I was only in middle school," she said with a wry smile.

"My uncle tried to help out as much as he could, except he lived a few towns away and had his own life to tend to. My brother had a lot on his plate himself, even going so far as to call himself the man of the house. He didn't know how to handle the grief at the time, and I guess he used boxing as an outlet. He wanted to become stronger so he could protect me. Maybe he felt guilty that he couldn't do anything to save my parents…"

She trailed off, and Tsubame wanted to stop her, to tell her that it was okay, that she didn't have to force herself, but she doubted Kyoko would have noticed. She was too lost in her own world, and a selfish part of Tsubame wanted to see where this was all going.

"Well," she continued, in a voice so small Tsubame had to inch closer to catch her words, "I didn't handle the stress very well either. I was so sad and angry and lost – just like you were when you moved here, Kishino-chan."

For the first time during her speech, Kyoko met her gaze. Tsubame was startled by the intensity of Kyoko's golden eyes – they were more radiant than the sun itself. She suddenly understood why so many fawned over her.

Once the initial shock faded, guilt weighed her down like an anchor. Kyoko was so sweet despite—or perhaps because of—her tragic past, yet here Tsubame was whining and griping over her predicament, which seemed hopelessly pathetic in comparison. Petty though it was, Tsubame felt it only fair that she shared her own concerns.

She offered a short, vague recount of what had been plaguing her mind – how _pointless_ all her anger towards her parents had been, how her first and best friend had suffered so much and caused so much suffering in turn, how utterly helpless she was as her whole world spiralled out of control.

By the time she was done, her eyes were burning with unshed tears. They had stopped on the side of the empty street as she struggled to recollect herself, and Kyoko steadied her by enveloping Tsubame's quivering hands with her own.

"Kishino-chan," she said softly, coaxingly, "do you know how my brother and I came to terms with our parents' death? By realising that, as much as we thought otherwise, none of it was our fault. There was nothing we could've done to change things, and it's the same case now. You couldn't have done anything for your cousin back then – you were only five. Your father is a police officer, right? If he couldn't have done anything, then there was no way you could have.

"As for your relationship with your parents…" Her gentle tone grew firm. "You still have the means to make amends, right? You're all alive and well, so you have no excuse. It's like my dad used to always say: 'Yesterday is history, the future is a mystery. Today is a gift – that's why they call it—"

"The present," whispered Tsubame.

"Exactly." Kyoko's eyes flickered to the other side of the road. "Oh, no," she sighed. "The café's closed. Sorry, Kishino-chan."

"Call me Tsubame," she said, smiling for the first time all day. "And I think I got what I was craving." It was perhaps time for her to take her medicine, no matter how bitter. "Bye, Kyoko. Have a happy new year."

A hopeful grin stretched onto Kyoko's lips.

* * *

"You're in a good mood," Gokudera noted as he speared another meatball onto his fork.

Tsubame swallowed a bite of pasta. "Really?"

When she had returned home, she had pried open her heart and talked things out with her parents. Now that all the rage had left her body, seeping out like a particularly nasty toxin, she felt light as a feather.

"Yeah," grunted Gokudera, jerking his head towards the dinner table. Spread out before the two were an assortment of dishes – nothing extravagant, but all exceptionally tasty, if she did say so herself. "Your mood shows in your food. When you're happy, it tastes nice."

"My food always tastes nice," she said with a smirk. "Now shut up and eat your balls."

Emerald eyes sharpened into a glare, but Tsubame could tell Gokudera was more amused than affronted. "So, I'm guessing this means that you're not leaving Namimori with your parents."

She hummed an affirmation. Her parents had left once she announced that she would stay, and though they disagreed at first, neither of them were eager to damage this new, precarious harmony between them. It was as fragile as glass, and the slightest nudge would cause it to crack. So they backed down, although not without a few warnings.

Part of her was relieved at their departure. Sure, their relationship wasn't so rocky now, but the most she could do was tolerate them. They were so naturally catatonic, so she could only take them in small doses at a time. Like chocolate, or poison.

"Good," Gokudera muttered, seemingly to himself.

But Tsubame heard anyway. "Good?" she repeated, lips curling in amusement.

Her dinner partner's eyes grew wild and panicky, like that of a cornered animal. "I meant it's good for Tenth and the Family!"

"You're part of the Family," she pointed out. "So you're saying that I'm indispensable? I didn't know you cared so much for me, Gokudera."

"No, that's not what I—!" But he was cut off by Tsubame's snickers, which grew louder the redder his face became. "Tch. You're so cheerful now, it makes me sick."

Tsubame simply smiled in response.

Gokudera, on the other hand, didn't share her good humour. While she obviously benefited from her encounter with her parents, Tsubame soon learnt that her neighbour experienced the contrary.

It began at midnight. At first, Tsubame was confused – why was she up? Silence greeted her for the few seconds, and nothing warranted her attention. She was about to dive back in her covers when she heard it.

Something was moaning and muttering in distress. All traces of sleep were wrenched from her system, and Tsubame waited with baited breath for some supernatural spirit to drag her off and into the pits of hell.

When nothing happened, she was forced to get up and investigate. As she passed by her kitchen, she grabbed her salt shaker just in case. The noises were increasing in frequency and volume as she stalked through her living room, and when her paranoia petered somewhat, she realised with a jolt what the source was. Rather, _who_ it was.

Concern quickly replaced her fear. Tsubame ducked through the gaping hole in her wall and into Gokudera's apartment. Her suspicions proved correct when she placed her ear against his shoddy bedroom door. _The sounds are coming from in there, alright._ Gnawing on her lip, Tsubame silently pried the door open, hoping that what she was about to see wouldn't send her running for the hills and grabbing the nearest bottle of bleach.

What she discovered was arguably worse. Curled up in a tight ball on his bed was Gokudera, who muttered a string of indecipherable nonsense through gritted teeth. The sliver moonlight that managed to penetrate the curtains sliced through the darkness and illuminated his taut form, and Tsubame could see a faint sheen of sweat coating his forehead. As he tossed and turned in agitation, she debated her next move.

Should she stay or go? Her heart went out to him, of course, but waking someone from a night terror could prove disastrous. Besides, she had a feeling Gokudera would be mortified if he realised she had seen him in such a vulnerable state, and an embarrassed Gokudera wasn't a pleasant one. Tsubame was just about to step out of the room when her ears picked up a faint, heart-wrenching, "Mum?"

Suddenly, all her reservations disappeared. The woollen socks on her feet barely made any noise as she crept towards him, though there was the occasional scruff against the carpet. She doubted Gokudera could hear the muffled padding over his torturous thoughts.

Tsubame felt a pang of sympathy shoot through her as she kneeled by his side. The only nightmares she had were over fictional characters, but she suspected she would begin to have some of her own after the bomb dumped into her lap today.

She brought a hesitant hand to Gokudera's face. Using her thumb, she stroked his pale cheek and murmured what she hoped were soothing words. As the groans died down to whimpers and finally into soft snores, Tsubame smiled and rearranged his crumpled blanket so it covered everything but his head. She brushed the hair away from his forehead before opening the window just a smidge, allowing the cool night air to penetrate the stuffy room and hopefully drive any and all nightmares away.

Job done, she left the room feeling infinitely more tired than she had when she entered. She never noticed the two green eyes peering at her through the dark, awake and alert.

* * *

 **A/N:** The character development Kyoko needed and deserved tbh

Next up – the Kokuyo Arc!


	15. Of Wounds and Waterworks

XV

 _Of Wounds and Waterworks_

Her good mood soured a week later.

Lips pinched into a grimace, Tsubame forced herself not to reach back with her good arm and sock the nurse in front of her. It'd be very detrimental, considering the woman was currently tending to her sprained wrist. Still, if she didn't stop running her mouth…

"Honestly, you kids these days are so reckless," she grumbled, an ugly scowl twisting her weathered face. "First a bunch of no-good Kokuyo delinquents barging in with beaten and broken bodies…" She clicked her tongue; Tsubame's eye twitched. "Why is it always busy during my shift?"

 _That's new._ Tsubame's irritation morphed into interest. What she knew of Kokuyo was limited to its school (and how it didn't hold a candle to Nami Middle, or so Hibari liked to claim).

As if reading her mind, the nurse muttered beneath her breath, "To top it off, we have that disciplinary committee brat strolling in as if he owns the place, demanding one of the best wards. And _then_ he injures the other patients! Honestly, the nerve."

Ah. One guess as to who that prick was.

Still, why was he in the hospital? Worry sliced through her. He must've been severely injured, that was for sure. Perhaps it was related to the Kokuyo delinquents? _Only one way to find out_ , she decided.

By the time her splint was in place, Tsubame made her way to where Hibari was staying. Initially, the nurse had been leery about disclosing such information (which earned her a point in Tsubame's book) but became more than happy to share his location once she had promised to stop him from terrorising any more people.

Even without the help, locating Hibari wouldn't have been difficult. All she had to do was head towards the direction the distraught doctors and nurses were returning from. Looked like he wasn't too hurt, considering he still had the energy to bother the staff here.

When Tsubame reached Hibari's gurney (idly weaving through the path of groaning bodies) she found him lounging comfortably in his plain, black pyjamas, nose buried in a book. He peered up when she approached, and confusion flickered into his narrowed eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, lowering his novel.

Her lips thinned at his tone. "I heard you were here and assumed you were ill." A strange light shone in his eyes, softening the steel grey into something vulnerable. It dimmed as she continued. "Judging by all the people you've been bothering, though, it seems I was worried over nothing."

Hibari yawned. "They were being noisy," he explained, reclining into the bed. "Swarming around the one herbivore and buzzing about how glad they were that he was all right. Annoying pests. And I'm here because I had a fever."

She stared at him dubiously. "You…came to the hospital because you had a fever?"

"The more time I spend with you, the more I'm inclined to believe that you're hard of hearing. Or extremely stupid."

Mindful of her wrist, Tsubame lifted her left shoulder in a small shrug. "No, senpai," she said, a shade too sincerely, "I want you to repeat things because I'm obsessed with the sound of your voice." It was actually rather nice, but the day she confessed to that was the day she learnt how to fly.

He was wearing that weird expression again. The one where his brow crinkled and the ice melted from his gaze, making him look like his proper age for once. She was seeing more of it lately, but she didn't mind; it made him more human, more…likeable.

Before she could grow too uncomfortable beneath Hibari's intense scrutiny, the silence of the hospital room was cut off by the Nami Middle's school anthem. The deep, baritone voices were coming from Hibari's person, and Tsubame was mildly surprised to see him pull out his phone and end the song by answering it.

His ringtone was the school anthem. His _ringtone_ was the _school anthem._

Tsubame hastily exited the room as Hibari frowned into his phone. She left with the pretence of grabbing a drink from the vending machine, but it was really because she didn't want to burst out laughing right in his face.

Careful not to jostle her right arm, Tsubame bent down to collect the two bottles of warm tea from the vending machine. She chose jasmine for herself and a bitter green tea for Hibari – he always had a cup of the stuff waiting for him in the committee room. As she returned the way she came, she wondered how he would react. Would he thank her? Smile, even? Surprising as it may be, he _was_ capable of it – she had witnessed it with her own two eyes. It wasn't directed at her, though, but at a startled Tsuna. Then again, it was probably at the flighty boy's expense.

People often wondered how she could endure Hibari. More specifically, how she could cope with his superior, sadistic ways. But that was only because they looked at him through mirrors rather than windows. To them, he was nothing but a demon who randomly lashed out at those around him. They were wrong.

Okay, they were right about the whole violence thing. But Hibari had a reason for beating people up, as obtuse as that seemed. After spending time with him the past few months, Tsubame had learnt how to navigate the dangerous waters surrounding him. It was simple – all she had to was not be weak, incompetent or stand in his way too much. In his own way, he was teaching people to toughen up. Hibari was probably the most heroic person she knew. Well, _anti-_ heroic, but still.

When she returned to his side—his victims had woken and wisely fled the room—Tsubame found Hibari no longer propped up against his mountain of pillows. Instead, he was stiff as a board as he sat straight up, his pale face crinkled in distress.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

His lips parted as he began to answer her, but quickly clammed shut as his eyes focused on her arms. "What is that?" he demanded.

The bottles cradled in her good arm dug into her torso as her body tensed. "Refreshments," she said, tone deliberately light. When Hibari didn't respond, and merely stared at her splint, the anxiety she was withholding crept into her voice. The day Hibari Kyoya reigned in his temper was a frightening one. She sighed. "It's just a sprain. It'll be fine in a week or two."

"How?"

"There was a tree," she mumbled. "And a hungry cat. And baby birds."

Hibari's face hardened. His lips curled into a smug smirk as his eyes sharpened into daggers. Tsubame was familiar with that expression. But…she had never been on the receiving end of it. Until now.

"Wow," he drawled, brow raised in mock awe. "How pathetic."

Tsubame felt as if someone had delivered a swift blow to her gut, right beneath her lungs.

Quick as a whip, Hibari's haughty scepticism shifted into intense disgust. "You heard me," he spat. "Getting a pathetic injury like that – do you enjoy tarnishing the disciplinary committee's name?"

"I— no!" There were a million things she wanted to say—words of defence, insults, demands as to why he was doing this—but all she could do was gape and try to ignore the way her chest seemed to caving in on itself.

"Really? Then I suppose that's a testament to your ineptitude."

Some of the shock ebbed away, allowing Tsubame to snap into action. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" she hissed. She had never seen Hibari like this; not when she had fallen asleep on the job, not when she had spilled juice all over the paperwork, not even when she had sneezed all over his blazer when he was in the middle of a fight. It was as if he was possessed. But a small, spiteful part of her whispered that _this_ was what Hibari really was. After all, hadn't she just admitted that he despised incompetency? And here she was, with a sprained wrist gained by falling out of a tree, of all things. She was the epitome of weak.

"Get out," he said, cold as ice. "Your duties as a prefect are suspended."

She stared at him for so long, she felt tears prickle painfully. Even when she blinked they refused to dissolve. "You can't…" she began to whisper. Despite herself, despite the way her eyes seemed to be on fire, her lips managed to twist into a bitter smile.

"You know, senpai," she breathed, looking everywhere but at him, "people often call you a heartless monster. I disagreed, sometimes even told them that they were ignorant and stupid. They spat the words right back in my face. And you know what?" Her smile stretched as she met Hibari's perfectly blank gaze. "I'm starting to think they're right."

With a deep, calming breath, she flung the bottles of tea in his direction and left the ward. As much as she wanted to break into a sprint and put as much as distance as she could between herself and, well, _that,_ she was too conscious of the hospital and its harried inhabitants to do anything more than power-walk through its stuffy halls.

Tsubame breathed a sigh of relief when she finally reached the building's main exit. But it came rushing back into her lungs at the sight of the green-clad figure in the distance, his gaunt figure made only just visible thanks to the automatic glass doors.

They slid open with a subtle _hiss_ , and Tsubame gave into her urge to run. She barely looked both ways before dashing across the road, barely noticed the way her arm ached as it bounced against her, because there was only one thing on her mind, and was staring right at him.

She knew that face. It was as pale and sickly as ever, making him look more like a ghost than he did ten years ago. His spectacles were the same model as hers had been, though it fit him much better than before. What really gave it away was the hat on top of his hideous bowl-cut he seemed determined to keep. It was the beanie she had given to him the day they parted, before he returned to Italy with her father and before they began using him as a human guinea pig.

Tsubame gazed into the bespectacled eyes of her cousin.

"Chikusa…"

If she had any doubt of this boy's identity, it was dismissed when a flash of surprise crossed his features. Tsubame's first instinct was to pull her cousin into a hug and allow the elation to flow through her freely. But the reminder that he could very well be a convict weighed on her, and the painful lesson on misplaced trust was fresh on her mind. So she restrained herself, and the emotions buzzing within her simmered into a dull hum.

"Hi," she said warily, scuffing her sneaker against the harsh gravel. "It's, um, Tsubame. Remember me?"

A strange spark illuminated Chikusa's dull eyes, but before she could get her hopes up, it flickered out like a weak flame as he nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The gesture was so familiar that Tsubame's own fingers twitched as they longed to fidget with her own pair of glasses, which were regrettably lying broken and forgotten at home.

"I remember," he admitted, soft-spoken as ever.

Did the nurse slip her some sort of drug when she wasn't paying attention? Because Tsubame felt so sluggish. The mere act of parting her lips in order to speak was a Herculean task. Her tongue felt like lead as she struggled to say something, anything, but nothing was forthcoming.

And the resulting silence was so awkward—so painfully, wrongfully awkward—that Tsubame couldn't help but burst into tears, the stress of the day finally catching up to her. First she sprained her wrist, then part of her heart had been ripped out of her chest by the one person she looked up to, and what was left of it couldn't even leap for joy at seeing her cousin after all these years.

Tsubame wasn't the weepy type, but she'd be damned if today wasn't an exception.

While she normally would've been mortified, she had no such compunctions with the person in front of her. As children, Chikusa had seen her cry hundreds of times before, and the terrified look on his face was almost enough to put a stop to the tears completely.

But it wasn't his amusing expression which dried her eyes. No, it was his hug which did the job. Hesitantly, like the socially inept teenager he was, Chikusa wrapped a thin arm around her shoulders. His hand gently nudged her head onto his shoulder, hiding her tear-streaked face completely in the folds of his green shirt. The enveloping warmth chased away her lingering melancholy, and she couldn't help but remember the familiarity of all this.

"You're still such a cry-baby," he sighed.

Just like that, her tears vanished, a smile taking its place. "Actually," she said, as she extracted herself from him, "I haven't cried since the day you returned to I-Italy." Man, she'd been a blubbering mess that day.

"You wouldn't stop wailing," he recalled, eyes growing cloudy with nostalgia. "Uncle was getting mad, and I didn't want to spend ten hours stuck on a plane with him, so I made you promise to stop crying. Didn't think you'd take it so seriously."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and it was almost as if they were kids again. It was amazing how easy it was to just relax and exchange barbs with each other. It was as if nothing had changed. But it had, and it wasn't something they could just turn a blind eye to.

The good humour in Tsubame's demeanour dried up like a lake in a drought. "We need to talk," she told him sombrely.

Her cousin immediately stiffened. "About what?"

She levelled him with a grave stare, already regretting her next words.

"About why you're not in jail."

* * *

Though initially stunned by Tsubame's knowledge of his criminal ways, Chikusa listened to her tale with silent intensity. She explained why she was in Namimori in the first place, how her parents had only recently revealed everything, and how she had developed a few grey hairs fretting over his fate. Naturally, she expected an equivalent explanation in response and—after some slight hesitance on his part—her cousin spilled the beans.

Tsubame listened with thinly veiled horror as Chikusa recounted his abhorrent childhood. His demeanour was despairingly detached as he spoke, but the slight tremor in his low voice spoke volumes.

And it broke her heart.

Then his tone shifted. It was subtle, and she almost missed it, but spending a month with Chikusa as a child provided her with the uncanny ability to read someone's moods and motions. The slight lilt to his voice and the softening of his expression revealed how _content_ he was.

She supposed it was only right since he was describing his saviour. Chikusa was nothing short of reverent, and it reminded Tsubame of Gokudera whenever he was gushing over Tsuna. A flash of irrationality surged through her as she thought, _Crap. Now I have a rival for my cousin's affections._

Let it be known she wasn't above being petty.

Although Chikusa was being rather expressive—for him, at any rate—Tsubame suspected he was keeping something from her. Other than admitting his skirmishes with the law, the recently escaped convict didn't disclose what the _hell_ he had been doing to land himself in one of Italy's highest security prisons. And though Tsubame's instincts screamed that she didn't want to know, she _needed_ to.

There was also the glaring issue of why he was really in Namimori. It obviously wasn't because of her (though part of her wanted to believe otherwise) and, as much as she hated to admit it, she had a feeling her cousin's sudden appearance was linked to the Kokuyo dilemma. He was wearing their hideous uniform, after all. Tsubame had been hoping to "accidentally" throw it in the wash (or garbage) while Chikusa was in the shower, but he had taken his clothes with him when he had locked the door.

Coaxing her cousin to drop by her house had been an astonishingly easy task. Ever since he was a child, Chikusa had been freakishly fond of showers and baths. At the time, Tsubame had giggled and thought him an oddball. Ten years on, she was no longer laughing. She had deciphered the reason behind his obsession. Mad scientists cared about many things, but the hygiene or health of their lab rats weren't one of them.

Tsubame finished collecting her supplies just as Chikusa emerged from the bathroom. She eyed his grimy green clothes with a wrinkled nose, once again wishing that Gokudera was home so she could ask if he had anything to spare. (She could always sneak into his room and grab some, but who knew what traps he had set up to deflect unwanted guests like her?)

Still, the relaxed expression on Chikusa's face was a grateful distraction. Now that all the dirt was washed off and the icy tautness melted away, he looked more and more like the boy she had come to adore years ago. The sight filled her with heart-wrenching hope. Maybe her cousin was still buried within that hollow shell, all alone in the dark and crying his eyes out.

A wave of resolution surged through her. Good thing, too, because she needed it, considering what she was about to do.

"Chikusa? I'd like to meet the person who saved you." Tsubame tried to project every inch of the confidence she didn't possess. When he peered up at her through foggy glasses, she smiled grimly and said, "I want you to take me to Mukuro."


	16. Of Tools and Puppets

**A/N:** TIL Amano Akira initially intended for the khr to be nothing but a comedy anime. That explains a lot.

* * *

XVI

 _Of Tools and Puppets_

Every single cell in Chikusa's godforsaken body screamed defiantly, like it was warning him to run, to flee, because something horrible was coming his way.

Then again, maybe that was just his hunger talking. As his stomach growled again, he decided, yes, it was his appetite that was causing him so much trouble. It had nothing to do with his harmless cousin, who was hesitantly purchasing something from the cloaked vendor across the road.

It was interesting how little she'd changed. Sure, there were the obvious aspects—her increase in height and dramatic hair length—but those were merely the physical. Fickle things compared to the warmth she emanated. Her dark eyes still glimmered mischievously, her smile, though small, was capable of illuminating the dank depths of his mind like it had when he was a kid, so skinny and slight and shivering with fear.

How times had changed.

Tsubame handed him a paper bag with her good hand, a promotional plastic fan tucked by her side. Chikusa tried not to glare too hard at her sprained wrist. He was floored when he learnt how she had gotten hurt, though he really shouldn't have been; she always did have a weakness for pathetic creatures, having adopted a scrawny stray kitten despite the verbal lashing she knew she'd incur from her banshee of a mother. Some wound consider her admirable. Chikusa thought otherwise.

The bag crinkled as he peered into it. "Meat buns?"

Tsubame nodded, smiling up at him. "They're like the ones you first ate when we were kids, except a lot better."

The memory slammed into him just as the steam of the buns wafted into his face. It had been a cold, gloomy day – and naturally, Tsubame wanted to go outside. Having craved something warm, she bought them a bun each. He quickly found his new favourite food. They bought a bun every day during his stay in Japan. He enjoyed them all—vegetable, beef, custard; you name it—but pork was his first and favourite.

A content sigh rumbled in his throat as he inhaled the wondrous aroma. It reminded him of the good times, before—

"Why are there so many?" he asked. He counted half a dozen in total.

Tsubame was many things, but nonchalant was not one of them. She tried and failed to look casual as she said, "They're for your…friends."

 _Ah._ That explained everything. While he hedged around the specifics of his sudden appearance, Chikusa was ultimately forced to confess that he was accompanying his friends to Namimori. He conveniently omitted the fact they were here to flush out a couple of Mafioso and take over the world in the meanwhile. Tsubame probably wouldn't approve. And, judging by her previous pause, she didn't entirely believe him, either.

But that didn't matter. What did was that she stayed far from his affairs as much as possible. Chikusa repeated that line in his mind like a mantra as he informed his cousin that she couldn't accompany him back to his hang-out.

He found himself on the receiving end of his cousin's infamous pout. Like she did when she was five and her mother refused to buy her the book she wanted, Tsubame's brow furrowed and her jaw clenched as she grit out, "Why?"

Because she would be eaten alive by Ken. Because Mukuro would crush her like a bug. Though Chikusa willingly devoted every fibre of his disgusting body to his associates and their cause, he wasn't oblivious to their flaws. He was well aware of how dangerous they were; he simply didn't care.

Unless a certain someone was involved.

His gaze drifted back down to Tsubame, who was waiting impatiently for an answer. Chikusa was tempted to shrug and walk away in reply, but knew it'd be detrimental; rather than acting as a deterrent, it would merely provoke her – she'd probably end up doing something stupid like trail after him. She'd be sniffed out in a heartbeat, and all would go to hell…

Sighing, Chikusa shifted his glasses back into place. His vision wasn't even poor enough to warrant them, but it did allow him to see everything with startling clarity. Such as the way the vendor in purple was looking their way. Subtly, Chikusa inched further into the alleyway, allowing the shadows to cloak his features.

"I'll talk to Mukuro-sama," he said finally, reluctance seeping into his tone. "Barging in without preparing him beforehand… It wouldn't end well." For her, at any rate.

Tsubame echoed his sigh at the compromise. "Alright," she relented. "But if I don't hear a reply, I _will_ hunt you down."

 _I'm well aware of that_ , he thought wryly.

A warm hand dragged him out of his dark thoughts. Chikusa flinched in surprise before shooting his cousin a look of mild confusion. There was a smile on her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"See you, Chikusa." _Be safe,_ her eyes seemed to say. _Be good._

He walked away without a word, the bag of buns heavy in his hands.

* * *

Chikusa wasn't much of a cat person. Actually, he wasn't a fan of anything in general. If he had to, though, he'd choose dogs. But only by proxy.

Hopefully the guard dogs hidden in the shrubbery couldn't detect his less-than-enthusiastic disposition towards them. Then again, being dead probably made them indifferent, so Chikusa supposed he wouldn't have to lay a hand on them yet. Mukuro wouldn't be too thrilled to hear about the unnecessary waste.

The rustling of a nearby bush was Chikusa's first warning. Then came the familiar stench of dirt, sweat and blood. It assaulted his senses just before the mutt responsible burst from the entrance of the woods and lunged in his direction. Chikusa's steps barely faltered as he dodged the ball of green and yellow and continued his way to the decrepit building towering before him.

"Kaki-pii," whined Ken. He bounced back onto his bare feet and ran towards him, sans the tackling this time. "Don't ignore me!"

Chikusa was content to do just that. He was forced to acknowledge the troublesome teen, however, when Ken swiped at the bag in his grasp, only to come empty-handed when Chikusa neatly evaded.

But Ken wasn't discouraged in the least. "What's that?" he asked, coarse voice coloured with excitement.

"A treat. For us and Mukuro-sama."

Predictably, Ken's glee increased ten-fold. He bounded up and down much like an excitable dog would, hollering grateful praise that fell deaf on Chikusa's ears. His euphoria ebbed slightly as they stepped out of the warm sunlight and into the dark building.

In the week they had resided here, they had discovered the ins and outs of the place. They knew where to step and where not to step, which paths led to dead-ends and which was the quickest route to their destination. In no time they reached the highest floor, the one that contained the creaky theatre which Mukuro liked to occupy.

Personally, Chikusa hated it up here. He avoided from the humid room as much as he could – which was to say, not very much at all. Being the topmost room, the rotten theatre wasn't privy to much wind and so lacked the airing out it sorely needed. He had a feeling that the dust settling on him right now had been here for the last decade or so. And he'd just taken a shower, too…

"Find anything?" asked Mukuro, his voice deceptively light.

To his left, Ken growled softly, though it seemed to be aimed at himself. "Afraid not, Mukuro-san. The local gangs I sniffed out were a bunch of nobodies. Can't believe I wasted on my time on those wimps," he grumbled, fruitlessly trying to rub the dried blood out of his shirt. At least the olive shade of their clothes would help disguise the stain.

Mukuro chuckled, and Chikusa identified it as one of amusement. He slid his gaze to his second soldier, who straightened slightly beneath his bi-coloured eyes. They practically glowed in the darkness enshrouding them. "Seems like Chikusa had a better time than you did, Ken," he noted.

Nodding, Chikusa gave a report similar to Ken's, although with a notable lack of spirit. "I came across a group of delinquents. They were all dressed the same and were around our age." He'd approach them because it seemed likely they were linked to the future boss of Vongola – rumour had it that he was no older than they. "But they were duds," he admitted, sighing.

"You ran into someone interesting, did you not?" probed Mukuro.

"Yes." His hand tightened its grip on the doggie bag, which had weighed him down considerably during the walk. "I ran into my cousin."

"What?" yelped Ken, staring at Chikusa with wide, bronze eyes. "I didn't know you had a cousin!"

In normal circumstances, such a simple statement shouldn't have been so shocking a revelation. But, considering all known family was dead and/or evil… Well, they weren't exactly normal, now were they?

With a small shrug, Chikusa gave them a brief recount of his history with his cousin – how they met, bonded, parted. How he never mentioned her, because memories of the good times always seemed to make the bad ones even worse.

"She ran into me. When she asked why I was here, I told her we needed to see someone."

"And she believed you?" Although Mukuro's tone was as conversational as ever, Chikusa detected something other than casual curiosity beneath his words.

"Yes, Mukuro-sama," he replied, sliding his empty hand in the pocket of his pants and clutching one of his yo-yos. "She…would like to see you."

As Ken choked on his spit in shock, Chikusa watched with wide eyes as Mukuro indulged in something neither he nor Ken had ever been privy to before.

Mukuro was _laughing._ Not his typical chuckle or snicker, but full-blown laughter. Ken seemed to drink in the sight, and something glimmered in those murky brown eyes of his. Chikusa tried to emulate his evident joy, but all he could muster was a reluctant sort of contentment.

His amusement made sense, in a way. After all, people tended to turn tail and run the opposite way when Rokudo Mukuro was in the vicinity, not approach him with open arms.

"Tsubame, was it?" Mukuro asked, once his laughter had died down. His red and blue eye sparkled with intense interest. "I'm assuming those are from her?"

Nodding, Chikusa dug out a pork bun before handing the rest to an eager Ken, who grabbed two and placed the bag on the armrest of Mukuro's couch. Their saviour smiled, but unlike his usual ones, this was far more genuine. It had been a while since they had seen him so…alive. Chikusa reminded himself that this was a good thing.

"I should give her my thanks," Mukuro finally declared, eyes glued to the steamed bun in his hand. His smile curled into a smirk. "I'll pay your cousin a visit, Chikusa."

The bespectacled teen crammed his snack into his mouth instead of replying. The pork bun had long gone cold, but that was okay. Chikusa didn't have much of an appetite anymore.

* * *

Namimori was a quaint town, they had quickly discovered. Its main streets were bustling with life, ringing with the giggles of innocent children and carefree chatter of youths and adults alike. Ken and Chikusa despised it, and naturally they assumed he did, too.

They were wrong. Mukuro _adored_ the oblivious city. It filled him with a peculiar feeling – something slight and silent. Seeing their unassuming, unguarded expressions was simply too much for him. Never had he wanted to rip the smiles off their faces as much as he did now. But he managed to resist.

Until he came across one boy. There was nothing special about him: he was an ordinary prepubescent child, stomping through the streets and muttering beneath his breath. Then he had the misfortune to walk past Mukuro, who caught the bitter words "stupid mum" and "why couldn't she make curry rice?" The next thing he knew, Mukuro's trident was brushing against the child's bare arm, nicking his unmarked skin and drawing away his free will.

Two birds with one stone, he decided, retreating to somewhere isolated. His human puppet headed to the more populated areas as Mukuro dismissed the thoughts of _food_ and _soccer_ drifting into the child's mind. Other than that, though, the boy's young mind bore no resistance. According to Chikusa's description, his cousin was his around their age, with dark hair hovering above her equally dark eyes while the rest was tied off in a long ponytail.

A triumphant smile snuck up his face as he spotted his target. Though several blocks away, Mukuro's command over his tool was strong and unwavering, and he steered the boy over to the girl. She was struggling with something, and as his puppet skipped closer towards her, he discovered that it was a can of tuna. Her right hand was curled towards her torso and fitted with a hideous splint. _Interesting_.

"Need some help?" came the childish lilt of his puppet's voice.

Chikusa's cousin raised her head. She had stuffed the can between her legs while her left hand feebly tried to pry the lid open. Her dark eyes ran over the child's form for a moment before nodding. "Sure, kid-I've-never-met-before," she said, voice surprisingly strong despite its low volume.

Mukuro instructed the boy use his chubby hands to peel the lid open. Chikusa's cousin gave a grateful nod as she accepted the can. "Thanks," she said.

"It was no big deal."

"Not for that," she said, sounding oddly grave.

Wide eyes blinked in childish confusion, though Mukuro had to admit part of him was mildly curious. "Then, for what?"

The girl brushed her ponytail to the side, preventing him from glimpsing her expression as she said, "For reminding me not all people suck."

Chikusa's cousin rose from the bench and crept towards the tree a few metres away. She peered up into the leafless branches, and Mukuro could only guess what she was looking for. His useless puppet needed glasses, it seemed. The girl seemed to find what she was searching for, and she dumped the contents of the can onto the ground before returning to her seat beside the boy.

Before he could question her strange antics, the explanation came in the form of a small animal. Judging by its black coat and nimble hops, Mukuro concluded that it was cat. It descended from its perch in the brittle branches and sniffed the tuna tentatively before digging in with a fervour that could rival Ken's.

When it was done, it stole towards them, coming to a stop just out of their reach. It was close enough for Mukuro to work out its luminous yellow eye—the other was sealed shut with a single scar—which was locked onto the girl.

"I don't have any more," she said in reply to the feline's probing gaze. "Sorry about before, but I couldn't have you eating those birds." When the animal growled, she shot it a scowl. "To be fair, you gave me a sprained wrist. And then…" Her eyes glazed over as her lips twisted in frustration.

Mukuro made sure his puppet wore a look of unease. "What's wrong?"

The fog of recollection dissipated from her features, and she snapped her eyes towards him, as if remembering he was still there. When she registered the question, her uninjured hand curled into a fist.

"It's good to get things off your chest," he insisted. Hopefully she would mistake his superficial inquisitiveness as concern.

By the time she finished weaving her woeful tale, Mukuro was torn between feeling amused and infuriated. She was wearing that sombre expression because a _boy_ had said some _mean things_ to her. Not her exact words, but Mukuro got the gist of it.

"Tsubame-nee!" chirped another child, a careless smile on his innocent features.

"Oh, hey, Fuuta. What brings you here?"

Fuuta? Why did that name sound so familiar? Uncertainty rippled through Mukuro's mind as he attempted to identify the newcomer.

Meanwhile, this Fuuta character was bouncing on the balls of his feet. He practically glowed with joy. "I was out collecting some rankings. My book has increased by a lot! Do you want to hear one?"

"Sure?"

Fuuta's expression of utter glee soon vanished. His eyes glazed over and everything within a three-metre radius lost its footing and began to float. Gravity was losing its power as _Ranking Fuuta_ used his much-revered power.

He seemed a million light-years away as he called, "Ranking Planet? It's me, Fuuta de la Stella…"

Mukuro was dimly aware of his airborne puppet, the frightened yowling of the cat and Tsubame's sigh as she clung to the bench. But none of that mattered, because a plan was beginning to hatch in his mind.

"Out of 86,202 people," murmured Ranking Fuuta, "Tsubame-nee is in 18th place as most loving." As soon as the words left his lips, his vision cleared. A smile broke out on his lips as he pulled out a large book that was almost as tall and as wide as his childish stature. He leafed through it and began scribbling away.

"What the…?" muttered Chikusa's cousin. Unlike Mukuro, however, her eyes weren't on Ranking Fuuta's goldmine. Rather, she was gazing up at the clear blue sky. "Most loving?"

Mukuro snapped to attention. He commanded his puppet to beam at Ranking Fuuta. "Do you wanna play a game?" he asked cheerfully.

Ranking Fuuta peered at him quizzically before flicking his gaze towards the eldest of the trio. When she shrugged, the boy interpreted that as a go-ahead, and Mukuro wondered how the girl would feel if she realised the weight of her seemingly insignificant action. He smiled.

"Let's play tag, then!"

Without further ado, the children began chasing each other. They eventually left the park, away from prying eyes and hidden from sight.

That was when Mukuro made his move.


	17. Of Discovery and Dismay

XVII

 _Of Discovery and Dismay_

Tsubame had a weird dream that night. Then again, she always had weird dreams – ones that involved zombies and demons and monsters, who almost always turned out to be Reborn's minions or the hitman himself. But this one – this one was different.

She woke up to thunderous booming. For a delirious moment, she thought her night terrors had become real before realising it was just the door. Still, that didn't stop her from taking precautions.

It was light out, but just barely. The clock told her that it was a measly six in the morning—far too early for anybody remotely sane—and it was with no small amount of hesitation that Tsubame pried open the door.

She was greeted by the sight of a grinning Ryohei. "Morning!" he roared, looking excessively energetic considering what time it was.

Tsubame winced. "Keep it down, senpai," she hissed. She could just imagine a groggy Gokudera storming into her apartment and wondering what the hell was going on. And when he landed eyes on Ryohei, well… No one in the building would be able to sleep through _that_.

"Sorry," he said in a hushed voice. Since it was Namimori's most extreme resident, however, it was more like a soft shout than anything. "You ready for our run?"

"What?"

Ryohei frowned sternly, and Tsubame recognised that as his 'leader face' – the one he adopted whenever he was speaking to the subordinates of his boxing club. It was also the expression he had worn several days ago, after she had challenged him to a quick race. Needless to say, the athlete blew her out of the water. She had asked him, between pants, how he was so fast, even though boxing didn't require running or anything of the sort. He announced that he went for a run every day, and his disappointment towards her fatigue was so heavy it was almost painful.

"Well, then, you should invite me sometime," she had joked, hoping to disperse the tension. It had worked, but she didn't know he had taken her seriously.

Tsubame stared. "Oh. Um, I didn't realise how early this would take place," she said hastily.

"Nonsense! One should rise with the sun – that's my extreme motto!"

"I thought living each day to the extreme was your motto?"

He waved a bandaged hand dismissively. "I have lots of mottos. Life's too extreme for just one."

"I see." She didn't. "Well, I'd love to run with you, except…" Tsubame gestured to her splint with a helpless shrug.

Ryohei's eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets. Tsubame would've found it hilarious if she wasn't so damn tired. "How did that happen?" he asked. "Did you challenge someone to a boxing match?"

"Not…exactly." She sighed. "Sorry for being frank, but I'm really tired."

To his credit, Ryohei didn't press on. He nodded in understanding, bidding her farewell with a reasonably ecstatic, "Get well soon!"

It wasn't until she shut the door that Tsubame realised how silent it was. When Ryohei departed, he seemed to have taken all the light with him, leaving Tsubame to shuffle restlessly in the dark confines of her apartment. Normally, that would be fine for her – preferable, even, as the harsh sunlight tended to make her hiss like the reclusive hermit she secretly was. After her recent nightmare, however… Needless to say, she ran outside as swiftly as she could.

She caught up with Ryohei fairly quickly. He was jogging up and down the staircase, taking them two at a time. When he sensed her presence, he broke out into a cheerful, unsurprised grin.

"You sure you wanna do this?" he asked, eying her injured wrist.

Tsubame followed his gaze. She understood Ryohei's concerns; if she joined him on this trek, then she'd be putting herself in a lot of unnecessary pain. However, if she returned to her apartment, alone and with nothing but the darkness and her nightmare to accompany her. She'd be safe, but not really.

Tsubame nodded determinedly. "I'm sure."

A few minutes later, she was sorta kinda regretting her hasty decision. A dull ache began to form in her right arm, and the weight of her backpack wasn't helping much. The sun finally began to rise, painting the town in pinks and reds. Tsubame wanted to turn back and go home, but that would be like abandoning Ryohei, who had gone ahead at her request and was gone from her sight. What if he tried looking for her, thinking she was lost or worse – _kidnapped_?

She picked up the pace from her slow gait to a brisk walk. Tsubame was just nearing the corner when she heard it.

In the silence of the dawn, the noise was almost deafening. The _crunch_ and _cracks_ seemed to echo through the empty streets, punctuated only by the occasional groan and grunt. Tsubame's inner alarm was blaring furiously. And that was before she even smelt the blood.

The sight she came across made her gasp. Ryohei was on the ground, curled in a foetal position and protecting his vital organs from the malicious man above him. His attacker continued to deal out kick after kick, despite the fact that his opponent was already down and almost out.

"Hey!" she yelled. "What're you _doing_?"

The man paused to glance sharply at her. Though his features were partially silhouetted in the feeble light, Tsubame just knew he was glaring at her; she could feel it. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he scoffed, delivering one final kick into Ryohei's abdomen. Her upperclassman released one final groan before succumbing to (what she hoped was) unconsciousness.

Tsubame stormed towards him, positioning herself so that she served as a human barricade between Ryohei and his assailant.

She wanted to hit him. So, so much. Tsubame could feel anger bubbling inside her, just waiting to be unleashed. But the flaring of her wrist reminded her why that would be impossible, or at least unreasonable, so she settled for using her words instead of her fists.

"Who are you and what do you want?" she asked, matching his glare while her hand subtly reached into her pocket.

"First name's Not, surname's Telling. As for what I want?" Not Telling scratched his spiky locks, and Tsubame could see in the sunlight that they were a dirty blonde colour. "I'm here to do my job. Now get out of my way before I make you."

Crap. This was the worst type of person she could face. Someone reckless, with no compunctions about their behaviour or its consequences.

She cleared her throat. "So, you're here on—Third Street?—beating up Sasagawa Ryohei to the point of unconsciousness because it's your _job_?" Tsubame slid her hand out of her bag and used it to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"What the hell?" He gave her a look. "What are you on about?"

"You sound familiar," she continued to ramble. "Do I know you?"

"Hah? As if I'd fall for that." But there was a slight hesitancy in his tone, and he scrutinised her intensely for a moment.

The thing was, Tsubame hadn't been bluffing. There really was a ring of familiarity with his gruff voice. He didn't pronounce certain consonants correctly, almost as if Japanese were his second language.

And then the first few beams of sunlight shone, illuminating both the streets and Tsubame's mind. "You're wearing a Kokuyo Middle uniform," she whispered.

He must've had good ears, because he heard her loud and clear. "So what?" he asked, suspicion seeping into his words.

That was when realisation slammed into her. Tsubame felt as if the criminal before her had made good on his promise to attack her, because she found it hard to breathe of all a sudden. She now knew why he sounded so familiar – it was his accent. It was the same one as Gokudera's, as well as one other person.

"Ken, what's taking so long?"

Ken looked over his shoulder, scratching his scarred cheek with his long nails. "It's nothing. Stop hassling me, Kaki-pii."

There was a heavy sigh. "I wouldn't have to if…" He trailed off as he stepped out of the shadows, coming to a stop a metre away from them. "What are you doing here?"

Tsubame glared. "Hey, cousin," she spat. "I could ask you the same thing."

There was a sharp ringing in her ears as she locked eyes with Chikusa's. Tsubame thought it was the indignant anger rushing through her that caused the noise, but then she realised it was something more physical. The wailing was coming from the emergency services approaching the area.

"You called them, didn't you?" demanded Ken. When Tsubame remained silent, he stalked towards her, lips curling into a snarl. "I—!"

"Ken," called Chikusa. "We need to go. Dealing with the officials will be too troublesome."

Ken's growl informed them of what he thought of that idea. "Fine!" he snapped. With one final, baleful glare in her direction, he scampered away.

Chikusa's eyes were cold beneath his glasses. "Don't get involved," he told her. And then he turned his back on her, leaving her alone with nothing but sirens and a comatose body to keep her company.

Tsubame kept her head down during the ride to the hospital. The medics focused completely on Ryohei, having tried and failed to extract information from Tsubame. The only word she uttered was "yes" when they asked her if the perpetrators were students from Kokuyo. Through the haze of guilt and shock, she gathered that Ryohei's attack was neither the first nor the last.

She didn't know how much time had passed. It could've been minutes, it could've been hours. She was vaguely aware of a warm blanket being draped over her shoulders as she watched her comatose upperclassman, who barely twitched during the whole exchange.

"Chikusa…" she whispered, voice cracking with grief. "What are you doing?"

"Chikusa?" echoed a horribly familiar voice. "As in Kakimoto Chikusa?"

Tsubame bolted upright. "Reborn."

"Tsubame!" Tsuna's surprised – albeit pleasantly so – voice soothed her somewhat. "What're you doing here?"

"I… Ryohei-senpai was attacked while we were on a run."

Tsuna gasped. "You saw the culprits?"

She tried to reply, but her tongue felt inexplicably heavy. All she managed was a curt nod.

Tsuna perked up instantly, no doubt wanting to hear more. She was saved from having to elaborate when the bedridden patient stirred. A load groan filled the room as he regained conscientiousness. The painful sound weighing down on Tsubame. Tsuna hastily fished out a bottle of water from his bag, ready to hand it to Ryohei – or he would have, if both his arms weren't swathed in bandages. Even most of his head hadn't escaped injury.

Once Tsuna poured some much-needed water into Ryohei's mouth, the boxer cheered up somewhat (as much as one with broken bones could). Where Tsubame was reticent, Ryohei was more than happy to shed some light on the incident. All eyes were on him as he recounted his story, but Tsubame was paying less attention to the story and more on his wounds…because of the Kokuyo Gang. Because of her cousin.

"Hey, Kishino," called Ryohei, energetic as ever despite his condition. "You look extremely bad."

Were it any other day, Tsubame would have called him out on his lack of tact, but she couldn't find the wherewithal to do so. Sure, he sounded fine, but… She eyed his form, the phantom pain of her healed wrist smarting. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It's my fault."

"What?!" screeched Tsuna.

"Don't be ridiculous!" roared Ryohei, wincing slightly.

"Explain," commanded Reborn. Although his voice was easily the softest, it chilled her the most.

Breathing in deeply, she did as instructed. She told them about her cousin Chikusa, his friends Ken and Mukuro. She didn't know what they were doing or why but, judging by the way Reborn's face grew closed off the more she talked, it couldn't have been anything good.

"The nurses mentioned that others have been attacked," said Tsubame. She fiddled with the bandages wrapped around her splint. "Who else has… Who else has Chikusa hurt?"

Tsuna frowned. "Mostly disciplinary committee prefects. I kept expecting you to show up here any moment, except on a gurney instead of next to one," he admitted, hands shaking.

 _Chikusa won't hurt me._ As much as she wanted to say it out loud, to confirm for herself that her cousin wasn't a bad guy, not really, she couldn't bring herself to push the words of her mouth.

"Is there a pattern?" she said instead. "I'd get it if it was just the prefects – get rid of the current gang and establish yourself as the new leaders of the area – but why was Ryohei-senpai attacked as well?"

Ryohei shrugged as much as he could, bandaged as he was. He looked more mummy than man, really. "The blonde guy with the mean punch didn't offer any reason. He just picked a fight out of the blue. But man," he added wistfully, "I _really_ want that kind of punch in my club!"

Tsuna looked seconds away from punching Ryohei himself for the comment, but couldn't help but notice the way the boxer's eyes darted over to her. He was trying to lighten the mood through his antics, and it worked for the most parted. But it just made her all the sadder.

"Anyway," continued Ryohei, "don't let Kyoko know about this. Make something up, I don't care, but I can't stand to worry her."

As if on cue, Kyoko rushed into the room. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of her brother covered head to toe in bandages, but Ryohei did his best to laugh it off. He claimed that he was fine, that there were only a few fractures on him.

"How did this happen?" she asked, sitting on the other side of him – the one opposite to herself and Tsuna.

He grinned brightly. "I was climbing the roof of a bathhouse!" was his outrageous lie. "Some kids lost their Frisbee up there, so I offered to get it for them!"

Tsuna watched the scene incredulously, if a bit dazedly. When Kyoko began to tear up, she and Tsuna glanced at each other and silently edged out of the room to give the siblings some time alone together.

They stood in the hallway, unsure of their next move. The silence allowed Tsubame to think, and the conclusions she came to were beginning to work her up into a frenzy.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes on Tsuna's bright orange sneakers. They were a sharp contrast from the endless whites and greys of the hospital interior. "Do you think I'm the reason senpai was attacked?" she asked softly.

"What?" squawked Tsuna. "Of course not! How could- why would you think that?"

She gave him a small shrug. "I'm a prefect too, y'know. Maybe they were after me but senpai got in the way?" Ryohei hadn't said such a thing, of course, but it still could've been true.

Even Tsuna couldn't immediately refute that. "I still don't think that's true," he said as confidently as he could. "And even if it were, it still wouldn't be your fault, Tsubame-san. It'd be the Kokuyo students' fault, or whoever put them up to it in the first place."

The logic of Tsuna's words struck a chord in Tsubame. She raised her head and smiled. It was tiny, almost non-existent, but it was there. "Thanks, Tsuna. You're really reliable when it comes down to it, you know that?"

Tsuna, like the adorable bunny he was, blushed. "You think so?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

"I know so," she confirmed. "And call me Tsubame."

Before Tsuna could respond, a student in their school uniform rushed up to them. He was a short, freckly guy with greasy black hair and a slight acne problem. "Sawada!" he shouted, earning him a dirty look from the nearby nurses. "What're you doing here?" He completely ignored her, but she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment.

Tsuna did, though. "Tsubame-san, this is Ando-kun from our class. We were partnered for an assignment once," he explained.

Ando rolled his eyes. "Yeah, the one we did miserably at. Why are you here, Sawada? Visiting someone?"

Tsuna nodded grimly. "Sasagawa Ryohei got taken down by the Kokuyo students as well."

"Whoa, no shit? _That_ Sasagawa?" Ando appeared floored by the news. "So it wasn't a coincidence…"

Tsubame's gaze sharpened. "What do you mean by that?"

Ando flinched at the sudden attention. He subconsciously straightened and said, "Mochida-senpai was attacked as well. He was rushed in just now."

"He's from the kendo club," muttered Tsuna. He glanced at Tsubame for a second, and they both seemed to think the same thing: athletes were being targeted as well.

She gasped. "Yamamoto," she whispered.

Tsuna paled as he reached the same conclusion she had. "Do you have his number?"

She nodded shakily and pulled out her phone from her shorts. Ando continued to list off the names of the students who had been attacked, none of them prefects. By the time he was done, Tsubame had called Yamamoto no less than three times, all of them answered by the automatic message-recording system encoded into his phone.

"Shit," she spat, shoving her phone back in her pocket.

Suddenly, Ando slapped a hand on the back of Tsuna's head. He shoved him down so that they were both bowing respectfully at Kusakabe, who was walking by with a troubled frown on his lips.

Dread settled into Tsubame's stomach like a rock. "Senpai," she called, rushing up to him. "Why are you here? Is Hibari-senpai okay?"

"Oh, Tsubame," he said, surprised. "Yeah, the head's fine. He went after the culprits this morning, but I haven't heard from him since."

"Where?" she demanded. "Where, exactly, did he go?"

Kusakabe leaned back slightly, as if alarmed by her intensity. "I don't know myself," he confessed. "But you shouldn't get involved, Tsubame, not with your arm all banged up like that."

Gritting her teeth, Tsubame glared down at the offending appendage. "There's a pattern she told him," raising her eyes once more. "It isn't just the prefects being attacked – athletes are as well. Right, Ando?"

Ando swallowed nervously as he glanced at Kusakabe's intimidating form. "R-Right," he replied nervously. "There was Mochida-senpai from the kendo club, Sasagawa-senpai from the boxing club, and a few others from the martial arts clubs as well."

Offensive sports… Tsubame's brow wrinkled in thought. "They're aiming for combatants," she murmured.

Tsuna peered at her in alarm. "You mean strong people? Why?"

"Survival of the fittest?" suggested Kusakabe. The blade of grass between his teeth twitched from side to side as if agitated. "A melee? Maybe those Kokuyo delinquents want to test the waters in a neighbouring town, gauge their strength."

Kusakabe shook his head as another prefect gestured for him. "Sorry, Tsubame, but I've gotta run. Spread the word about our findings – make sure people prepare themselves."

Tsubame nodded. "Take care of yourself, senpai."

He smiled. "You too."

* * *

Reborn was impressed. He wouldn't admit it, aloud or otherwise, but he was. Tsubame was a bit wiser than he gave her credit for, having narrowed down the line of reasoning as much as she could with what information she had. Of course, Reborn himself had worked it out ages ago, but there was a reason he was the world's best hitman.

Her ability to keep from panicking under duress was questionable, though. Up until today, he had pinned her as the cool and calm type. She saw through his toddler act, understood the realities of becoming a Mafioso, and barely reacted in the meanwhile. But now she was emotionally compromised, all over a few loved ones and some beatings. Even Tsuna wasn't as hysteric.

Maybe he was being too harsh, but harshness was all too necessary if they wanted to survive in the world of organised crime.

He waited until everyone left before hopping out of his hidey hole and onto Tsuna's shoulder. Predictably, the boy flinched. "Reborn!" he hissed. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there," he said vaguely. Truthfully, he was making a call to his contacts in regards to the Vindicare escapees Kakimoto Chikusa, Joshima Ken and Rokudo Mukuro. "You shouldn't be worrying about me, Tsuna; worry about your famiglia instead. Tsubame told you strong people are being attacked, right?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, obviously concerned. "She said she was going to look for Yamamoto and Gokudera-kun, and told me to wait here and call her if anyone we know shows up."

Reborn allowed Tsuna to stew in his thoughts. He leapt off the brunette's scrawny shoulder and stood on the chair next to him. The waiting room was full of students, chatting to each other in hushed tones, with some even crying. It was like being at a funeral.

There was a faint _plop_ and something green fell from Reborn's fedora and onto his chair. Tsuna squealed at the sight of Leon's detached tail flopping about frantically, looking much like a dying worm.

"What _is_ that?" squeaked Tsuna.

"Leon's tail broke off," he explained.

"Wait, are chameleons even meant to lose their tails?!"

As usual, Reborn ignored him. He placed his hand near the rim of his fedora, and Leon climbed onto his fingers obediently. A new tail was already growing in place of the old one, but that wasn't the issue here.

"It's an omen," stated Reborn.

Tsuna's dubious look was wiped clean off of his face when the double doors flew wide open. "Make way!" screamed a nurse as he and his colleague wheeled a gurney through the halls. "We've got another Nami Middle student coming in – a prefect this time!"

The gurney rushed by. In it laid no other than the deputy prefect, Kusakabe. His chiselled features were mutilated from the blows to his face, leaving it bloodied and bruised. Reborn only had a few seconds to scrutinise Kusakabe's body, but that was more than enough time for him. He found what he was looking for.

"There's another similarity between the victims," he informed Tsuna, who had risen from his seat to watch the scene in horrified shock.

"W-What is it?"

"All of them have a number written down on their right hands."

"The same number?" asked Tsuna, bemused.

Reborn shook his head. "Kusakabe just now had the number 4, and since the boy before Ryohei had 6, I'm assuming he himself should have had 5. But Tsubame interrupted them before they could get that far.

"Oshikiri, a bully used to beat you up a lot, had 7. Yokomine from the judo club was 8, the guy before him 9, and the other guy 10. It's a countdown, Tsuna – a countdown to you."

To his credit, Tsuna didn't seem surprised. He sunk down into his seat and buried his head in his hands. "Why me?" he practically sobbed.

In reply, Reborn dug out a sheet of paper from his suit. It was a copy of the one from Fuuta's ranking book, and it listed students from Nami Middle based on their fighting capabilities. Tsuna scanned the paper, his hands shaking so much that Reborn was surprised he could even read their names at all.

"Tsubame's not on this list," he noted faintly.

"That's right. It's because whoever wanted this information was only interested in men. Why? Because they know the tenth boss of the Vongola famiglia is male, not female."

The weight of his words began to sink into Tsuna. Before he could start spiralling downwards into the trap known as self-pity, Reborn distracted him by introducing him to the concept of omerta. "It's a code that prevents people from disclosing organisational secrets to outsiders," he explained, thinking of all the fools who he gotten themselves a bullet to their heads for trying to spill secrets better left hidden from the world.

"Fuuta's ranking lists are the entire industry's top secret. There's no way an ordinary person would have access to it, which means—"

Tsuna, the fool, interrupted him by shouting, "Since Kusakabe just got beaten, number 3 is next! Reborn, that's Gokudera-kun! What do we do?!"

"Text Tsubame the list," he instructed his student, compartmentalising his irritation and shoving it away for later. Now wasn't the time. "Then go after Gokudera yourself. I have things I need to tend to."

Tsuna snapped a photo of the list as Reborn disappeared. It took him a few tries until he got a picture clear enough to be legible, then sent it to Tsubame. "Please be safe," he muttered, hitting 'send'. "Please."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _I always found it weird (and gross) that, in the manga, the Kokuyo Gang tear out their victims' teeth in the form of the countdown. Like, that just seems excessive. And teeth never grow back once they're no longer baby teeth. Talk about extra._

 _In the anime it's slightly better, as they censored it so that they used watches instead. But why did the gang even have that many in the first place? Scribbling down the numbers onto the bodies—maybe even carving it into them with a knife—is much more efficient._


	18. Of Agitation and Altercations

XVIII

 _Of Agitation and Altercations_

 _Where the hell is everyone?_

Gokudera ran a frustrated eye around the classroom. Before coming to Japan, he'd never attended an actual school, and instead gained knowledge through the army of tutors his father had shoved onto him from ages four to fourteen. That way it'd be easier to hide his bastard child from prying eyes.

Actual schooling was both better and worse. Better because it wasn't as intimate as his one-on-one tutors, but worse because the material covered in class was so below him that it was nothing but a waste of time – well, not usually. When his boss was here, then it was fruitful, because it allowed Gokudera to study him carefully, note down his mannerisms and keep an eye out for any and all potential threats. Tsubame called him creepy, but there was a reason _he_ was the Tenth's right-hand man and not her (no matter what she said).

Except now, the Tenth wasn't here. Neither was Tsubame, but she often skipped class anyway for that shitty disciplinary committee. That pompadour group reminded him vividly of the small-time mobs in Italy who "protected" their community in favour of monetary compensation and, if they couldn't afford it, less savoury reimbursements. He hated it, and tried to interfere as much as he could, but there was little a freelancer with no proper famiglia could do without receiving backlash ten-fold.

 _I have one now, though,_ he reminded himself. Except two of the three were absent, and the only other one present was asleep on his desk two rows behind him. The Tenth and his neighbour weren't the only ones gone, however. Almost everyone had failed to turn up to class, and those that did eventually left after an hour or two. Gokudera would've followed suit, except he kept expecting the Tenth to show up any moment now. It wasn't the first time his boss had been late to school, but it was especially conspicuous this time…

He checked his phone yet again, but he realised with a scowl that the battery was already dead. _That decides it,_ he thought, rising from his seat. He ignored the teacher's pathetic attempts to berate him and walked out of the room. When Gokudera dropped by at his usual time this morning, The Tenth's esteemed mother had informed him that his boss had already left for school. The fact that he still hadn't arrived bothered Gokudera to no end. So he was going to take matters in his own hands and look for the Tenth himself.

He was just about to turn the corner when something crashed into him. Gokudera instinctively jumped back, his hand reaching for his almost infinite supply of dynamite before finally registering his would-be opponent.

Snorting, he adjusted his grip on his backpack. "Watch where you're going, will you?"

Instead of glaring at him, Tsubame glanced up at him with immense relief illuminating her face. "You're safe," she breathed, stating the obvious. "Where's Yamamoto?"

Gokudera frowned. "In the classroom. Why? Is something going on?"

She nodded, jaw clenched. "I'll explain after we grab him."

Gokudera was content to amble back the way he came, but Tsubame had other plans. She darted off down the hall, forcing him to pick up the pace.

"Sensei," she said, slamming open the door and stopping the teacher mid-lecture. "The disciplinary committee needs Yamamoto Takeshi; it's urgent."

On any other day, the teacher would've put up a fight. He looked at his classroom, which was practically empty save for two girls, and sighed in defeat. "Fine," he said. "There's no point holding class when no one's here. You're all dismissed."

The girls cheered, jolting Yamamoto awake. He blinked blearily as he took in the sight around him. "Class over already?" he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

If anything, the teacher slumped down ever further. "Yes, Yamamoto. Class is over."

"Nice. Thanks, teach." Yamamoto shot him a sunny smile, which was ignored, and made his way to his friends, bag in hand. "Thanks for waiting, guys."

Gokudera opened his mouth to inform him that that hadn't been what he was doing, but Tsubame silenced him with a look. She flipped open her phone, and their attention was drawn to the photo on the glaringly bright screen.

"The top fighters of Nami Middle," said the baseball idiot, apparently incapable of reading things silently and in his head. "Whoa, I'm second. Awesome!"

"Not awesome," snapped Tsubame. "Everyone on this list is being targeted by thugs in Kokuyo uniforms. A good chunk of the DC is hospitalised, including Kusakabe-senpai. Hibari-senpai went after them, I don't know where, but no one's heard from him since."

Tsubame's hands began to shake. Gokudera snatched the phone from her so he could look at the picture without getting dizzy. "Calm down, woman. Even if the delinquent committee falls, we won't." He eyed the baseball idiot. _Well, I won't,_ he amended to himself.

Tsubame didn't even bother to level him with a glare this time. He tensed; something really _was_ wrong. "Tsuna texted me," she said, her posture taut with stress. "He and Reborn-san think they're fishing for information about Vongola Decimo."

Gokudera jumped into action instantly. "What're we still doing here, then?" he demanded. "Let's go to where Tenth is!"

"And lead them straight to him?" she asked derisively. "We'll do more harm than good."

She was right, and that pissed him off. Gokudera clenched and unclenched his hands for lack of anything better to do. "We can't stand here and do _nothing_!"

To his surprise, the baseball idiot nodded in agreement. "Gokudera's right," he said, looking serious for the first time in his life. "We should re-group and come up with a plan – teamwork makes the dream work, after all!" he added with a bubbly laugh, completely destroying what little respect Gokudera was beginning to develop for him.

At least it got them moving. The unlikely trio swiftly made their way to the hospital on foot, not wanting to risk the lives of others if they were suddenly ambushed while in a bus or taxi. On that note, they weaved through the town using shortcuts that diverged from the main roads. Yamamoto, having lived in Namimori his whole life, knew the town like the back of his hand, while Gokudera himself had made it a point to memorise the layouts of any and all potential battlefields. Tsubame knew which routes to take and which to avoid, thanks to the constant patrols the disciplinary committee undertook. Together, they cut down the trip from twenty minutes to ten.

"We make a great team," noted Yamamoto as the hospital came into their line of sight.

Gokudera scoffed, but it was less heated than usual. "Of course we do," he boasted, preening. "There's a reason the Tenth's recruited us all."

"Ah," said an unknown voice, "so you are involved with the Vongola after all."

Sticks of dynamite materialised in Gokudera's hands as he whirled around to face the newcomer. He was emerging from the alleyway they had just exited from and, as he stepped into the sunshine, Gokudera noticed the murky green uniform that was characteristic of Kokuyo Middle.

"You're the one who's been attacking our school?" asked Yamamoto, his eyes and voice as sharp as steel. His baseball bat was in his hand, pointing downwards as he kept it by his side.

 _Idiot!_ Gokudera wanted to scream. He should've already had it in sword form – every second counted in a battle, especially with an opponent of this calibre. Four-eyes over there had spoken but once, but his very demeanour oozed confidence. No wonder the delinquent committee had all been defeated. Even they couldn't stand up to an experienced hitman.

Tsubame bared her teeth at him. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, Chikusa?"

Chikusa?

"Wait," said Gokudera. "You know this guy?"

"Yeah," she said tersely. "He's my cousin."

Stunned silence followed her declaration as both he and the baseball idiot looked from the hitman to her. Now that he thought about it, they had a few parallels between them. But now wasn't the time for that.

Sighing, Chikusa fixed his glasses into place. The glare from the sun hit them perfectly, blocking their sight of his eyes for a moment. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Tsubame," he said, his words cold but his tone… There was definitely an undercurrent of concern there. Gokudera would know – he heard it from his sister often enough. "I told you not to get involved, didn't I?"

He didn't even give her time to reply. Quick as a flash, Chikusa threw his arm out towards her. It bypassed both Gokudera and Yamamoto easily, as neither were his target. Something red leapt out of his pale hand, and then Tsubame was crumpled up against the gravel, several needles sticking out of her arm.

Gokudera's hands twitched as he longed to set off his bombs and toss them at the stony-faced hitman. But he was standing in the middle of two large buildings which held countless civilians inside. While Gokudera was willing to risk his life for the sake of taking down an enemy, he wasn't as enthusiastic about endangering others in the meanwhile.

"What the hell did you just do?!" he asked, his eyes never leaving Chikusa. He had been right; one second was all he needed to eliminate someone.

Yamamoto rushed over to Tsubame's fallen body. His large hands hesitated over the tiny needles decorating her arm, unsure if he should remove them. They were small, yes, but they ran the threat of being deep – deep enough to draw a dangerous amount of blood if he were to take them out.

"Isn't she your cousin?" he demanded helplessly. "She's your _family!_ "

Chikusa twitched at Yamamoto's words, but his voice was as emotionless as ever as he said, "I didn't use anything lethal. It was just a knock-out agent."

He could've been lying. Yamamoto knew that, but still… There was something about his behaviour that struck Yamamoto as genuine. In a way, he even sounded defensive.

And that filled him with hope. Despite the actions of him and his gang, Tsubame's cousin didn't seem _completely_ terrible. Which meant they had a chance to stop him.

"Oi, baseball idiot," called out Gokudera. "You better not be thinking about taking this guy on. He's no joke, let me tell you that."

 _A joke, huh?_ Was that all he was – an airheaded idiot who treated everything like a joke? Yamamoto smiled thinly. "I know."

"Then you should know he's way out of your league as well. Leave him to me. Take her to the hospital instead."

"But—"

"Do it."

The protest died on Yamamoto's lips as he took in the gravity of the situation. He nodded jerkily and swooped down to collect Tsubame in his arms. "I'll see you soon," he told Gokudera, and then he fled.

He didn't bother watching his back, confident in the knowledge that the Kokuyo student would allow his cousin to get aware scot-free.

He was right.

 _Good luck, Gokudera._

Tsuna tugged on his wild mane of hair for the umpteenth time that day – and it was only midday! It was hard to believe mere hours had passed since his mum warned him of the Nami Middle attacks this morning. She had recommended self-defence classes for him to take, but there was no point now that he was already being targeted.

Gokudera and, to a lesser extent, Tsubame had gotten injured as a result of him. Right after Yamamoto had showed up with a comatose Tsubame in his arms, Reborn appeared out of nowhere and recommended they send her to the nurse's office in Nami Middle instead of the hospital. Shamal may have been a giant pervert, but his office was much more secure than the wards of the hospital.

"Leave her here for now," interjected Reborn. "I'll keep an eye out for her while Shamal arrives to take her to the school. Tsuna, Yamamoto, you two should head back out and back up Gokudera."

Yamamoto hesitated at first, but eventually acquiesced with a nod. Tsuna did the same, but also asked Reborn to tell Shamal that if he even _thought_ about touching Tsubame inappropriately, he'd sic Bianchi on her.

"I think the pervert might actually enjoy that," retorted Reborn, an amused twinkle in his eye.

"Not if she ends up castrating him," he muttered, thinking back to that time Bianchi had caught a peeping tom in the neighbourhood and gotten her hands on him. He shuddered violently.

Although they weren't sure of Gokudera's exact location, it was all too simple to track him down – all they had to do was follow the path of strew needles and blackened pavement. One spectacularly enormous explosion had them running, and the sight they came across had both him and Yamamoto breathing a sigh of relief.

Gokudera was okay. There were maybe two or three needles in his entire body, but he seemed not to feel them as he got to his feet, a cigarette in between his lips. A flinty expression was on his face as he gazed at the plume of smoke not five metres away from him. It melted into one of joy upon noticing him approach.

"Tenth!" he exclaimed happily. "Did you come here just for me?"

 _Yamamoto's here too, you know,_ Tsuna thought, feeling bad for the forgotten baseball player. He smiled at Gokudera. "We should go get your wounds checked out," he said, glancing at Gokudera's shoulder. Covered by his uniform as it was, the hit wasn't as dangerous as it could've been.

"Your kindness is unparalleled," Gokudera practically sobbed, prompting a laugh from Yamamoto. Tsuna's self-proclaimed right-hand man turned to scowl at him, but then noticed the smoking crater he had created with his final attack.

Tsuna steeled himself for the sight of a mangled body, except there was none.

"You've saved me a lot of trouble," said a haggard voice. It belonged to someone who was so caked in blood it churned Tsuna's stomach.

"Be careful," warned Gokudera. He pushed himself in front of Tsuna, blocking the enemy's view of him. "His weapons are yo-yos."

"Yo-yos?" repeated Yamamoto. His grip on his bat tightened, and not a moment too late.

Tsuna blinked, and suddenly Yamamoto had teleported from beside him to in front. His sword was out, and Chikusa's yo-yos were lying on the floor, the red weapons separated from the wires connected to his hands.

Chikusa pursed his lips, silently seething. His yo-yos were far from ordinary; the wires were industrial-strength. Most blades couldn't even dig into it, and yet that civilian's sword had just…

No, not a civilian. "I see," he murmured, adjusting his glasses so that he could see better. "Namimori Middle, 2-A, seat 15. You're Yamamoto Takeshi."

"Number two, right?" he said, sword still raised.

"You're not my prey," sighed Chikusa. "It'll be troublesome if I interfered." Besides, he could hear the distant wail of sirens. The police would be here at any minute, and he didn't need that on his plate right now.

"As if we're letting you go that easily!" growled Gokudera. He pulled out a few sticks of dynamite to punctuate his statement.

"Yeah," agreed Yamamoto. "You need medical help."

Gokudera almost swallowed his cigarette whole as he choked. "That's _not_ what I meant!"

Tsuna gaped at his insane friend. "Why are you helping him, Yamamoto?" he hissed, as if Chikusa couldn't hear him. "He's the one hunting _us."_

"Yeah, but he's also Tsubame's family."

No way. Tsuna looked back to Chikusa. Beneath his bloodied sides, his cracked glasses and smouldering clothes, he could see the family resemblance. "You're her cousin?" he asked, eyes wide.

Something flickered over Chikusa's otherwise stoic face. "I don't know how you got her into this mess, but make she stays out of it," he said, turning to go. "And if you try to stop me, I'll put up a fight, and then the police will arrest us all."

The Nami Middle students jumped, finally noticing the sirens. _I don't want to go to jail!_ Tsuna wailed internally. _Especially when I haven't even done anything!_

Gokudera conceded with a click of his tongue. "We should go," he said, ducking into an alleyway. Tsuna immediately followed, as did Yamamoto, but not without a glance back at the half-dead teen staggering away from the scene of the crime, dripping blood as he went.

Tsuna frowned. How were they going to explain this to Tsubame?

To his dismay, she had regained consciousness when they returned to the school's infirmary. Tsuna was still wondering how to break the news when she took one look at their long faces and sighed. "I take it you have bad news?" she surmised, sounding more withdrawn than surprised.

Nodding, Tsuna explained to the best of his ability. She stared at her lap as he spoke, and watched Gokudera bicker with Shamal for a little after he was done. "What's the plan?" she said, finally, even if it wasn't the response Tsuna wanted.

"I'm glad you asked," said a voice from above.

"God?" wondered Yamamoto.

No, not God – it was the opposite. Reborn peered down at them from his perch in what he described as Leon's cocoon state. After the little lizard had lost its tail, it couldn't control its transformations, constantly shifting into different shapes. Now it was sleeping peacefully—hibernating, even—as it settled into its final form…or so Reborn said. Tsuna didn't bother reacting at the information. Very little could surprise him today.

Reborn leapt down from the cocoon and onto the infirmary bed Tsubame was sitting up in. "I'm only going to explain this once, so listen up," he said, turning his back to Tsubame and facing the boys. "Two weeks ago, there was a jailbreak at a high security prison reserved only for the worst criminals of the mafia world. The escapees—Joshima Ken, Kakimoto Chikusa and Rokudo Mukuro—killed several wardens and prisoners before heading to Japan. After that, three foreigners transferred into Kokuyo Middle and soon formed a gang out of the students there. Mukuro's the leader, so we can assume that he's the brains behind this operation."

Tense silence descended on the room. Tsuna swallowed heavily, the sound almost deafening in the quiet. "So our opponents are from the mafia?" he concluded.

"No." Reborn's lips tilted downwards into a frown. "These people have been exiled from the mafia."

 _Exiled? From the mafia? That's…That's bad. Real bad._ "What did they do?"

"I'm not certain," said Reborn, and a voice in the back of Tsuna's head warned him that he was being lied to.

Tsubame shifted on the bed. "Do you know where their hideout is, Reborn-san?"

"I do, in fact."

"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted Tsuna. "Tsubame, you're not seriously considering confronting them, are you?" Cousin or not, they were _deadly_.

Tsubame's resolve didn't waver. She looked Tsuna dead in the eye and said, "Someone's got to beat the nonsense out of Chikusa. If I don't do it, who will?"

"But you're injured," interjected Yamamoto.

She smiled sharply. "Then it's a good thing we have the best doctor the underworld can offer, isn't it?"

As one, they turned to Shamal. He grinned back at them. "I thought you'd never ask."

Tsuna tried to wriggle out it, of course. Unlike his friends, he had some sense of survival skills instilled in him after years of being harassed by both adolescents and adults alike. As soon as he tried to protest the plan, Reborn whipped out a letter allegedly written by the Ninth, which read:

 _Dear Decimo,_

 _I have heard of your current predicament from your home tutor Reborn. Well, you are my successor, after all. The time has come for you to take the next step. As the highest ranking member of the Vongola Family, I'm giving you this order. Within the next twelve hours, you are to capture Rokudo Mukuro and his gang of escaped convicts. You are also to rescue the hostage at the same time._

 _Best of luck,_

 _Vongola IX_

 _P.S. If you are successful, I shall send you one hundred years' worth of tomatoes at daybreak._

Alright, now he knew this was a fake.

Unfortunately, Gokudera bought it completely.

"Amazing," he murmured, awed. "The Ninth has written you himself, Tenth! We can't let him down!"

"Who's the hostage?" inquired Tsubame. She leaned heavily against the wall, the effects of Shamal's Trident Mosquito still waging war on her body. Although he had artificially healed her sprain, the chemical balance of her body would be disturbed as a result. It was mostly her hormones which would be affected, but Tsubame had shrugged it off. _It's not like I don't experience that once a month anyway,_ she had claimed.

"It's the person they stole the list of strong fighters from," replied Reborn. "It's Fuuta."

"No way," whispered a stunned Tsuna. "They kidnapped _Fuuta?_ " Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen the brunette since…since a while ago. The kid was often away ranking things, it was no wonder Tsuna had barely noticed his absence. That didn't stop him from feeling responsible, though.

"Tenth…" Gokudera glanced down at the floor. "Because of me, that Chikusa bastard knows who you are now. They'll be coming after you next."

Yamamoto's eyes narrowed. "Not if we have anything to say about it."

Despite the situation, Tsuna managed a smile for his friends. "You guys don't have to do this – it's only me they're after."

Yamamoto grinned. "That's exactly why we'll fight with you, Tsuna."

"The baseball idiot's right for once," agreed Gokudera. "We'll stand by your side until the day we die, Tenth."

 _That's exactly what I'm worried about!_ he thought despairingly.

The door slid open to reveal a faintly smirking Bianchi. "Count me in," she said. "I have a duty as Hayato's sister to watch his back."

Right on cue, Gokudera's face turned green at the sight of his childhood tormentor. "A-Aneki," he choked out, collapsing onto his knees painfully.

Tsuna hung his head. _If you really care about him, you should probably stay away from him_ were the words he wanted to say but couldn't. Instead, he nodded. "We'll need all the help we can get."

Shamal heaved a dramatic sigh. "As much as I'd love to assist my dear Bianchi – I mean, you lot – I've been tasked with the responsibility of manning the fort while you guys go off and have all the fun yourselves."

From his position on the floor, Gokudera muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Greasy bastard."

"It's decided, then," chirped Reborn. "Go home, prepare yourselves, and come to Tsuna's in an hour. See you all soon."

The boy in question sighed. _What on earth have we gotten ourselves into?_


	19. Of Infiltration and Interferences

XIX

 _Of Infiltration and Interferences_

An hour later, Tsuna was more anxious than ever. So many things could go wrong with the confrontation, he didn't know where to start. Not only was Leon's hibernation a bad omen—one that meant a student of Reborn's was going to meet his death, apparently—it prevented the chameleon from producing more Dying Will Bullets. To his dismay, they were down to one last bullet. He was so screwed.

His friends lifted his mood, but only barely. Both Yamamoto and Bianchi had brought heaps of food for the group, although only one set was actually edible. If he deluded himself hard enough, Tsuna could almost imagine their trip as one to find the perfect spot for a picnic. Tsubame's stiff demeanour wiped away all thoughts of that, however.

It took them less than half an hour to reach Kokuyo Centre, the hideout for Mukuro's gang. They tried to strike conversation several times to dispel the strained atmosphere enshrouding them, but their attempts never gained traction. He and the guys had all changed out of their uniforms into comfortable, casual outfits that allowed for more mobility. Tsubame remained in the loose pair of shorts from this morning, the only difference to her outfit being the airy hoody she had thrown over her shirt. It had two zip-up pockets, one of which was half-open with a tell-tale bulge in it.

"What did you bring, Tsubame?" he asked curiously. She didn't use actual weapons as far as he knew, preferring to rely on her kicks and punches to do the trick.

Blinking out of her reverie, Tsubame dug her hand in her pocket and extracted a small aerosol can. "Pepper spray," she explained. "My dad gave it to me before I left, but I've never really felt the need to carry it around until today."

"I don't think that'll be very helpful," he said doubtfully.

"That's what this is for." With a casual flick of her left wrist, she sent a small dagger flying out of her sleeve and into her hand.

Tsuna flinched. "W-Where did you get that from?"

She gave him a wry smirk in response. "You think my mum can live as a police officer's wife without knowing how to defend herself? This is her spare; she sent it over to me a few days ago, just in case…just in case Chikusa came after me."

Tsubame shook her head, lightening her tone as she continued: "I've always wondered how Hibari manages to pull out his tonfas from nowhere, so I started practising myself with this." She paused, frowning. "I've never really used it, though."

Bianchi clapped her hands together. "Crash course," she declared, forcing them to stop in the middle of the empty highway.

Yamamoto capitalised on the brief reprieve. "We might as well eat while we can," he said with a smile, though Tsuna couldn't help but note how ominous his words sounded. The son of Namimori's best sushi chef unwrapped the cloth keeping the boxed lunches together. He handed a tray each to each of the guys, including a grumbling Gokudera, as Bianchi began to teach Tsubame.

"Imagine I'm the enemy," she said in that low, smooth voice of hers. "Attack me."

Tsuna would've hesitated, not wanting to hurt her, but Tsubame had no such compunctions. Since Bianchi was wearing a pair of tinted ski goggles to impair her appearance and thus keep Gokudera from hurling, Tsubame forewent her pepper spray tactic and went for her knife instead. She lunged for Bianchi's bare midriff, angling the tip of the blade upwards to dig it into her stomach in hopes of piercing something crucial and life-ending. Bianchi didn't even bat an eye as she danced away from the blade, much to Tsubame's visible irritation.

"Not bad," allowed Bianchi, a small smile of approval of her lips; Tsubame relaxed slightly. "You're quick, but not quick enough to avoid getting gutted while you try to recover from the miss. A dagger isn't like a sword," she said, and Tsuna glanced at the seemingly innocuous baseball bat slung over Yamamoto's shoulder. "You can't protect yourself with it as you withdraw."

This time, Tsubame's frown was less heated and more contemplative. "What do I do, then?"

"The first thing you do is try to cut them, not stab them."

Tsuna paused mid-bite, frowning in confusion. Tsubame's expression mirrored his as she said, "Why?"

"Have you ever nicked yourself with something sharp? Like with a kitchen knife while you were cooking, or even a paper cut? What did you do once it happened?"

Tsubame's eyes widened as she put two and two together. "I stared at it."

Bianchi nodded, her smile growing. "It's instinctive, and only the best of the best—like my darling Reborn—can stop themselves from glancing at their cuts, especially if it's somewhere visible like their arms."

She was probably shooting Reborn a dreamy look, but Tsuna was too busy fighting off the demon baby from stealing his food to see. (He wasn't successful.)

"So while they're distracted, stab them," finished off Bianchi. Then she turned to the others, her own lunch in her hands. "Now that you're all done with the appetisers, it's time for the main course."

Tsuna eye the bubbling mass of toxic waste with something akin to immense terror. "Oh, no," he said shrilly. "What to do? I'm already so full from Yamamoto's sushi."

"M-Me too," chimed in Gokudera, who was beginning to look pale.

Yamamoto offered a nervous laugh. "Maybe later, yeah?"

Bianchi shot them a venomous look (sans Reborn, who was feigning sleep on Yamamoto's shoulder) before zeroing in on Tsubame. "I'm on a diet," she lied.

 _If you're on a diet, then we're all starving,_ Tsuna thought, reflecting on all the times he had seen Tsubame eat enough for two fully grown men in one sitting.

Sniffing dramatically, Bianchi put away her food—and Tsuna was using that term very liberally—but he noted how she didn't have any herself. Which made him wonder – was Bianchi genuinely oblivious as to what her cooking did to people? Or did she just like messing with them?

Never mind. She was friends with Reborn; of course it was the latter.

Kokuyo Centre was enormous, but also dilapidated. Crumbling buildings were left to rot in the dirt and mud they were buried in, Mother Nature reclaiming what was once hers by invading the man-made structures with weeds and vines.

"What _is_ this place?" asked Tsubame, running a critical eye over the place. From their position at the foot of the hill, they were in plain sight to whoever was keeping an eye out on the fort.

"Long ago," began Reborn, "this place was an entertainment resort. But then the new highway was built, rendering the old one obsolete. Kokuyo Centre eventually ran out of business, and since no one expressed any interest in rebuilding, this place was left to rot. Two years prior, a typhoon swept by and buried it all in an enormous mudslide."

"I've been here before," confessed Tsuna, eyes unfocused as he thought of the past. "I remember there being a karaoke club, a cinema, and even a small garden zoo."

Yamamoto let out a low whistle. "Sounds cool. It's too bad my dad never took me here."

Being the least wistful person of the lot, Gokudera scoped out the entrance. The gate was chained up and rusted, unused for years. "Doesn't look like those guys used this to get in. What should we do?"

"That's easy," said Bianchi. She stepped forward, a steaming pile of what should've been onigiri in her hands. "We go straight through the front door."

Gokudera flinched back as Bianchi applied her toxic weapon onto the gate. The worn out metal melted away within seconds. Tsubame wasted no time in kicking the thing open, and in they went. She kept her eyes peeled for anything suspicious, but Yamamoto's height won over her alertness, and he spotted the footprint long before she did.

It was animalistic, almost dog-like save for the sheer size of it. "It's fresh," stated Bianchi, kneeling down and touching the imprint. "There's also a layer of blood on it."

Tsuna let out an embarrassing squeak. "Could the animals from the zoo still be around?!"

Tsubame shook her head impatiently. "There's no way it could've survived all this time. There's nothing to eat here."

"Not to mention they would've evacuated the animals instead of leaving them to die here," said Yamamoto, but Tsuna wasn't as confident in the kindness of man as he was.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," said Reborn. He pointed at a nearby tree, the trunk of which had pieces gouged out. "Something with exceptionally sharp fangs would've done that."

"Tenth, please come and look at this." Gokudera had wandered from the group a little. Deeper into the entertainment centre were old cages big enough to fit all of them and more. The bars had been eaten through completely, and Tsuna wondered how long the poor animals had been locked inside without food before growing desperate enough to gnaw on cold metal.

He was forced out of her grim speculation when the rustling of grass caught her attention. It was loud, loud enough for everyone to pick up on it, which meant the creature causing it was done with hiding.

"Behind us!" shouted Gokudera.

Yamamoto was at the tail end of the group, which meant he was attacked first. Something Tsubame could only describe as a black wolf lunged out of the bushes with a fierce growl, maw wide open and ready to harm. Only Yamamoto's quick reflexes, honed by years of baseball and months of amateur swordsmanship, saved him from getting his face bitten off. He brought his arms up, prepared to wrestle the rabid dog off of him, but when he gripped it, his hands went right through its neck.

"It's already dead!" he gasped, trying not to let any of the dog's blood and guts fly into his mouth.

He had barely thrown the corpse off of him when more took its place. The next one didn't tackle Gokudera so much as throw itself against him. Its body exploded on contact, drenching Gokudera's face with gore.

"Shit," he hissed, jumping back. "Let's run!"

They didn't need to be told twice. Two more animated carcasses were on their tails, and Tsuna could feel their cold breaths on his legs as he tried to pump them up and down faster and faster. _If only I had legs as long as Yamamoto's!_ he though with a small sob, watching as his friend lead everyone away from the demon dogs.

But that ended up working against him. The ground in front of Yamamoto burst open as someone leapt out of the earth and into his path. Ken landed on all fours like some sort of beast, forcing Yamamoto to stumble back and fall. What should've been sturdy land caved in at Yamamoto's weight, and he fell down, down, down until he landed on his back on what felt like a tiled floor.

Ken let out a wild hoot. "Welcome!" he cried, jumping into the hole with more grace and much more enthusiasm than Yamamoto had.

"Looks like Tsuna's memory was right," declared Reborn as he peered into the hole with the rest of them. "The garden zoo's been buried by the mudslide."

Tsuna swallowed back his panic. "So we're standing on the roof right now?"

"Worry about yourself later. Yamamoto's not alone down there."

"What was that?" demanded Tsuna. "Some kind of weird animal?"

"Worse," ground out Tsubame, fists clenched. "It's one of Mukuro's lackeys. His name's Joshima Ken, and he's the one who beat up Ryohei-senpai."

* * *

Ken was toying with him, that much was obvious – even though she was at least five metres above of them, Tsubame could tell. If he really wanted to, he could've ended Yamamoto's life in a heartbeat. The fact that he was just messing with Yamamoto both infuriated and relieved her. It meant that she still had time to intervene.

"I'm going in," she announced to the group. Really, she was the only one who could actually help. Gokudera's bombs would've just buried Yamamoto and Ken alive, while Bianchi's poison cooking would have them both breathing in toxic fumes. Reborn wasn't allowed to interfere by proxy, and Tsuna was basically powerless. That didn't stop him from protesting, though.

"You can't," he said immediately, wide-eyed with fear. "He'll tear you to shreds!"

"Well, what else do you suggest?" she said snappishly. "That I just sit here and watch while Yamamoto tries to fight back without hurting himself somehow?" It wasn't like he was doing much fighting in the first place – his bat was broken to pieces thanks to Ken's monstrous abilities, and he wasn't taking it serious enough to risk injuring himself and thus his chances in the upcoming baseball tournament.

They had no answer for her. Mind made up, Tsubame took a deep breath and steeled her nerves before stepping away from edge and plunging straight into the hole.

When falling, it was instinctive for people to stretch out their arms and land on their hands to keep their faces and heads from getting injured. That was how Tsubame land after tumbling out of the tree with the baby birds in it, which resulted in a broken wrist (among other things). Since then, Tsubame had looked up how to land properly from a fall. The trick was to bend your knees and land on the balls of your feet to reduce the shock of the impact, followed by a forward roll to slowly ease the tension out of your body.

Tsubame gasped as shards of broken glass tore into her face as she rolled on her shoulder. They were once part of the domed ceiling of the zoo and now lay scattered all over the floor. She had no time to inspect her injury, because Ken and Yamamoto had paused in their game of cat-and-mouse at her interruption.

Concern and frustration fought to dominate Yamamoto's features as Ken's feral eyes narrowed at her. "It's you," he growled. It was a lot more intimidating now that he was in what he called his Wolf Channel. "Planning on butting in on my fight again?"

She sneered at him. "Not much of a fight when you outclass your opponents this much, now is it?"

"True," he allowed. "Especially when this wimp over here isn't even trying. How about it, Chikusa's cousin? Think you can give me a run for my money?"

Tsubame felt her lips shift into a smirk. "Try me."

"I don't back down from challenges," he informed her, reaching up to pop the fangs out of his mouth in favour of a new one. "Let me go all out with this – Cheetah Channel!"

She watched, terrified but fascinated, as Ken's animalistic body became slimmer and lither. Brown spots appeared all over him while the whites of his eyes turned a shocking orange. They glowed even in the darkness they were submerged in. The only source of light came from above, forming a perfect circle like a spotlight. Tsubame was standing right in the middle of it, and though she was facing the direction of Ken's voice, she could barely see him. But she could certainly hear him loud and clear.

He thundered towards her, not bothering to stick to the shadows and throw her off by circling her like she would've. He was underestimating her – good. "Thanks for the meal!" he roared with one final pounce, his fangs aimed right at her jugular.

He never even touched her. Motivated by his desire to save Tsubame, Yamamoto had fought back his desire for self-preservation and thrown himself onto Ken at the last second, tackling him to the ground and pinning him there even as the beastly man tried to fight him off. But cheetahs were famed for their speed, not their strength, and Yamamoto outweighed and overpowered Ken easily. A swift clock to the head with what was left of his baseball bat knocked him out, leaving Tsubame feeling dissatisfied over the anticlimactic ending.

"I didn't even get to do anything," she mumbled, pouting like a put-out child.

Laughing, Yamamoto stood up and ruffled Tsubame's hair. She gave it two seconds before slapping his hand away irritably. "That's not true," he said, linking his fingers together behind his head. "I'd be screwed without you."

"To serve as a distraction, you mean?"

"Well…"

She snorted. "Never mind that. How do we get back up?"

The answer came in the form of a rope ladder, which was unceremoniously tossed down the hole, narrowly missing them. Tsuna's faint scream of "You mean you had that the whole time?!" sure hit them, though.

"Sweet," said Yamamoto. He tugged on the ladder, judging its sturdiness, before stepping onto it confidently. "Coming, Tsubame?"

"You go first. And can you ask them for a rope or something so we can bind this guy?" she asked, kicking Ken's comatose form for good measure.

"There's no need," called down Reborn as he leapt down the opening. He landed with all the grace of a cat onto Ken's back, rope in hand. As he made quick work of tying up the troublesome blonde, Tsubame pawed through his pockets for his weapons. Including the one she pried from his mouth, there were six in total. She tucked them into her own pockets before finally making her way back up to the surface.

"Are you sure we should just leave him down there?" Tsuna asked once he was done inspecting Tsubame and Yamamoto for any injuries. "Won't his allies just fish him out later?"

"We can't call the police here," said Gokudera, frowning thoughtfully. "They'll just get in the way."

"Yamamoto should take him to the police station, then," suggested Tsubame. "You're weaponless right now, so it'd be best for everyone if you went home anyway."

"Not so fast," said a smug Reborn. "I have a spare."

Tsubame tried not to blink, but it was useless, because Reborn pulled out another baseball bat seemingly out of nowhere. Tsuna voiced her thoughts by screeching, "Where did you even _keep_ that?!"

Reborn smirked. "The same place I kept the ropes," he clarified, which only confused them more.

But Yamamoto was above such trivial details. "Thanks!" he said, taking the bat and sliding it into the sleeve he had slung over his shoulder.

"Guess we gotta leave that Ken guy down there," muttered Tsuna. He peered down the hole before jumping back with a scream.

"Tenth!" shouted Gokudera. "What's wrong?!"

Tsuna thrust a shaky finger towards the hole. "H-He's conscious again!"

"Seriously?" sighed Bianchi as they clambered around it. "How annoying."

"I guess bringing Mukuro down won't be so easy after all," mused Gokudera.

Somehow, Ken managed to hear him. He barked out a vicious laugh. "As if you lot could ever take down Mukuro-sama!" he said, his face splitting into a nasty grin. "Not like it matters. All of you are going to be ripped to shreds before you can even see his face!"

"What did you say?" growled Gokudera. He scooped up some gravel and threw it down at Ken. "Eat dirt!"

"You're too soft, Hayato," chastised Bianchi as she dumped a rock the size of her head down the hole. The teens winced at the loud _crack_ that followed, but all Bianchi said was, "He better stay out like a light this time."

Tsuna paled. "This person is damn scary!"

"This is our only picture of Rokudo Mukuro," said Reborn, extracting a photo from his suit. It was a mugshot of Ken and Chikusa, who were flanking an intimidating man who towered over them. He had black hair swept back from a cruel face, as well as scars criss-crossing his entire torso. "You don't understand how many times he's driven the police and mafia alike into dangerous and desperate situations like this one. The jailbreak happened on the eve of his execution, when security should've been maxed out."

"This person is damn scary!" repeated Tsuna, shaken to the core.

"Doesn't matter," Tsubame said harshly. "All we need to do is take him down, right? I'll choke the life out of him myself."

His body was on fire. Well, that was to be expected. No matter what torture method they preferred to use, the result was always the same – Chikusa always felt like his blood was boiling and bubbling inside of his veins, ready to burst open and drench the labs in red… Then he'd be forced to clean it all up, no matter how conscious he was. Might as well put them to _some_ use before they dropped dead.

"Enough of your damn whimpering already!" snapped a shrill voice.

Chikusa jolted awake. Instead of seeing the yellowed walls of his childhood home, he was greeted with a mouldy ceiling that had more holes than actual plaster. His body was stiff and sore, covered in as many wounds as there were bandages. The crown of his head was wrapped up, as were the most of his right body.

That's right… The Smoking Bomb had done this, not the Estraneos. Chikusa slowly sat up from the hard mattress he was lying against, struggling not to re-open the stitches Mukuro had no doubt painstakingly done for him.

From his seat beside the bed, Mukuro clicked his tongue lightly, though his distantly amused expression never changed. "M.M., please don't be so crass," he said, a mocking lilt to his voice. But there was a certain hardness to his eyes that Chikusa had long learnt how to read, and he knew Mukuro approved of their reinforcements as much as he did.

"Blunt as always." M.M. sniffed as she tucked a wayward strand of orange hair behind her ear. "And we've been cellmates for so long, too."

"What are you doing here?" asked Chikusa, eyes narrowed at the woman seated across the room. He never liked M.M., even before the jailbreak. There was something unsettling about her – of course, the same could be applied to all of them, but at least they never tried to hide the ugly truth. M.M., though, always liked to disguise her sociopathy through playful smiles or flirtatious smirks that never quite reached her eyes. The fact that she kept trying to seduce Mukuro wasn't helping.

The corners of her lips tilted upwards into a cat-like smirk. "For a job, obviously. Mukuro-chan pays the best."

"Personally," said Birds, his eyes beady beneath his glasses, "I'm just in it for the thrills."

Birds wasn't his real name, of course. In fact, no one knew what that really was. The inmates had named his based off the tiny yellow balls of feathers he always had around him. They were unlike any birds Chikusa had ever seen before, and he wasn't certain they weren't natural creations. Two were perched on the old man's shoulder while one rested on his bucket hat. He probably had more interspersed around the building, sly bastard that he was.

The twins were silent throughout the entire exchange. Like Birds, their names were unknown, merely referred to as the Bloody Twins. They were perhaps the creepiest of the lot, their faces sunken in to resemble that of decomposing corpses. Their fingers were unusually long, with nails the length of their faces and as sharp as blades. They responded to Birds and Birds only, which meant he was the one they had to keep an eye on as much as possible.

His disgust towards the motley crew must've let itself shown, for Mukuro turned to him and said, "Chikusa, rest up for a bit. We'll leave the Vongola's neck to these people."

'People' was a loose term for the criminals he was referring to, but Chikusa nodded obediently. "Where's Ken?" he asked.

Mukuro's face tightened. "He was defeated. Lancia's fetching him as we speak."

"Which one took him down?" Was it the same one who had defeated him? Or was it Ken's own opponent, Yamamoto Takeshi?

"Your cousin, as a matter of fact." Mukuro chuckled, and an unbidden shiver ran down Chikusa's spine. "An interesting girl indeed."

Chikusa's hand clenched around the moth-eaten blanket thrown over him. He was going to kill Vongola X himself for involving Tsubame in this mess – that, he was sure of.


	20. Of Wounds and Witchcraft

**A/N:** Ithink this may be my favourite chapter yet.

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XX

 _Of Wounds and Witchcraft_

The moment everyone was distracted, Tsubame slipped away from the group and ran towards the central building – the one most likely to operate as the main base. Bianchi noticed her running off, but did nothing more than nod her head slightly before returning her focus on their next opponent, a flashy girl called M.M.

 _Thank you, Bianchi,_ she thought to herself. _And sorry, everyone, but…_ But she needed to find Chikusa, as well as Hibari. The fact that so many assassins kept coming at them meant that Hibari hadn't gotten very far in his purge of the towns troublemakers, and that worried her.

Rather than heading directly towards the towering building, Tsubame used the woods as a cover. Hopefully they were abandoned, because she wasn't looking forward to fighting off already-dead dogs.

A wave of warmth washed over her, and suddenly Tsubame was stumbling. She tried leaning on a tree for support as she slid to her knees. Her breath came out as pants, her vision blurring.

Was this the effect of Shamal's handiwork? _Shit, what a pain in the ass…_

The foliage of the trees blocked out most of the sun's rays, allowing Tsubame to cool off as she pressed her body against the ground. One minute. She allowed herself one minute before she had to get up and keep moving.

It was surprisingly difficult to get up again, but once she got started, it became a little easier. Step by step she forced herself onward and, by the time she reached the building. It was made almost entirely of panelled glass, more than a few of which were either shattered or cracked. Tsubame took care as she crept inside, taking care not to trip on any of the wooden beams or step right through the ancient floorboards as she stuck to the shadows.

It was kind of eerie, sneaking through an abandoned building without encountering anyone. Where were all the guards? The other criminals? Were they all outside, preparing to face off against Tsuna and the rest? Well, that just made her job a lot easier, then.

She rounded the corner of the first floor and stopped dead in her tracks. An adorable bird stared at her from the window it stood on. It was no bigger than her hand, and looked a lot like a fat yellow canary. Tsubame reached out her hand to it.

"Intruder!" it chirped, and Tsubame snatched her hand back as if burnt.

 _It talked!_

"Intruder!"

 _And it's ratting me out!_

Tsubame slammed her hand towards it in attempt to shut it up, but it outmanoeuvred her and flew into the air before she could even graze it. Instead of soaring into the sky, however, it went further into the building. Feeling like a rat trapped in a maze, she threw caution to the wind ran after it. It was better than wandering around aimlessly, and at least she was bound to get somewhere.

The bird flew down a staircase and into the basement. Tsubame paused, unsure if she should proceed. Who knew what was lying in wait down there? She'd seen her fair share of horror movies – it could be a monster or a demon or—

" _The green that trails Namimori_

 _Not large, not small, middling is best_

 _Always unchanging, vigorous and gallant_

 _Let's sing together, Namimori Middle School!"_

…Or a certain head prefect.

Tsubame sighed. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

The bird continued to sing obliviously as it fluttered beside her head. Tsubame took it as a demand to hurry up, so she practically skipped down the stairs and thrust open the heavy steel door with a grunt. It was completely dark down there, so she made herself push it open all the way so that she could actually see.

Hibari glanced up from his position against the wall as he saw the light of day for the first time in hours. Tsubame, overcoming her shock, rushed over to him. The edges of his face were bruised terribly, but that was nothing compared to the rest of his body. His arms had dried blood all over thanks to the cuts decorating them, while the wound on his chest was still bleeding.

She worked on that first, unbuttoning his shirt with trembling hands. Hibari didn't bother stopping her, which made her hands shake even more. If his external wounds were this bad, who knew what was going on inside of his body?

Along with lunch, Bianchi had also brought a first aid kit. Before leaving, Tsubame had nicked some of the medical equipment stored inside of it and tucked it into her own pockets. There was a small towel—basically a handkerchief—which she used to clean Hibari's wounds, as well as a small bottle of disinfectant.

"This'll sting," she warned him, but he merely closed his eyes and slumped back against the wall. Taking that as permission, she gently pressed the cloth against him. He didn't even flinch.

The chest wound wasn't particularly deep or serious, having been made by something blunt rather than sharp. A club, maybe? Or maybe someone kicked him while he was down? She'd have to leave it to her imagination, because Hibari would never tell.

There were two types of bandages on her person – the kind Ryohei wrapped around his fists, and the simple stick-on ones that were basically giant band-aids. Tsubame's knowledge of dressing wounds was limited to knowing how to clean them, so she peeled the protective adhesive off the bandage and applied it onto his injury. Once that was done, she pulled out a thin box from her pocket and popped it open. It contained a syringe full of pink liquid. As per Shamal's instructions, she flicked it to prevent any pockets of air before plunging it straight into Hibari's vein.

"The school nurse gave this to me," she explained. "It'll get rid of your cherry blossom aversion."

Hibari's eyes flashed, and she wondered if he'd encountered the deadly flowers recently.

Tsubame leaned back, giving him some space. "This is all I can do," she told him.

"It's fine," he grunted. His voice sounded rougher than usual; she should've taken a bottle of water with her before she left. Hibari buttoned his top up before treating the wounds on his arm and his face; he didn't bother bandaging them.

"Who did this to you?" she asked, peering out the door as he tidied himself up. The yellow bird that had led her to Hibari circled her head once before flying back out.

"The head of the pack," he replied with a hiss. "A man with a red eye and a blue one."

Tsubame looked back at him in surprise. Rokudo Mukuro was the ringleader, right? In the photo Reborn had shown them, the man in the centre had had black eyes, not multi-coloured ones. They'd been duped.

"What's this?" purred a gruff voice. "I came down here expecting a skylark, not a sparrow."

Tsubame whirled around, dagger out, as Ken lumbered down the steps. He gripped the rusty rail for support, which meant he wasn't completely okay, even if he was up and walking.

Ken eyed her wildly. "How about you and I finish off our fight, huh?"

"With what weapon?" she countered, gripping her knife tightly. "Your fangs were destroyed."

"Liar!" he snarled, hand convulsing against the metal railing. Genuine worry flickered through his muddy eyes, and she knew she had him. "You have them, don't you? Hand them over!"

Tsubame rolled her eyes. "What makes you think I have them? Even if I did, do you really think I'd just give them to you?"

He straightened, and his eyes grew as sharp as his pointed teeth as he said, "How about a trade, then? My fangs for your little friend – the ranking boy."

 _Fuuta._ "Where is he?" she demanded.

Ken shrugged, the apathetic action contrasting blatantly with the cruel gleam in his eyes. "Give me my channels and I'll tell you."

"I only have one," she said, feigning chagrin as took one set out and held it out by her side. "You want it? Come get it."

There was no need to provoke him; the mere sight of his fangs sent Ken into a frenzy. She had expected him to dash down the stairs, but he took her by surprise by avoiding them completely and leaping straight towards her like an animal.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, forcing her to choose between fight or flight. Tsubame batted away the instinctive need to dodge and brought her left arm up just as Ken reached her.

She could actually feel Ken's shock and pain travel through the knife that was currently plunged into his hip. The hilt was digging into her leg from her position beneath him, but she couldn't bring herself to move; she was too focused on the feeling of Ken's chest heaving against hers as he struggled to breathe through the pain.

In the end, it was Hibari who rolled Ken off of her. He nudged him with his foot, and Tsubame scrambled away from her victim. The knife was still sticking out of Ken's waist, and she had no interest in removing it – it was one of the few things stopping him from bleeding to death. To her amazement (and relief) Ken was trying to get up, even now. A swift kick on Hibari's part put him out of his misery by knocking him unconscious.

Tsubame began to wring her hands. She stopped when she felt the droplets of blood that had splattered onto her when she drove the dagger into Ken's abdomen; she settled for crossing her arms firmly against her chest instead.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to treat a stab wound, would you, senpai?" she asked anxiously.

Hibari shook his head. When Tsubame chanced a glance at him, she relaxed upon noticing he held no judgement or disgust in his eyes. "Not one of this calibre," he admitted. He took a step towards the exit but stumbled. Tsubame immediately rushed to his side. When she tried placing her arm across his waist, Hibari sucked in a breath.

Her eyes widened as her previous suspicions were proven correct. "You're hurt, aren't you?" she said, horrified. "Not just bruised and cut up, but properly hurt."

"It's fine," he said through clenched teeth. "Let me go."

"If our situations were reversed, would you be trying to carry me or would you be leaving me to fend for myself instead?"

Hibari's silence was all the answer she needed. Satisfied, she made him sling an arm around her neck while she tightened her grip on his waist. Slowly but surely, they made their way out of the basement and, as per Hibari's order, to the third floor cinema, where Mukuro resided.

"The cinema?" she repeated, assisting Hibari up the stairs. "Seems like a bit of a drama queen."

Hibari smirked.

"Drama queen, drama queen," sang the bird. It settled onto Hibari's shoulder contentedly.

"I never knew you had a pet," she said, making conversation to keep her mind off of how heavy Hibari was as well as the memory of Ken's slumped, bleeding body in the basement… "A _talking_ pet."

"It's not mine," said Hibari. "It was keeping an eye on me as a spy when I was…unstable."

"Well, it's yours now." What an unlikely duo. She imagined how the committee would react to their fearsome head prefect returning from the Kokuyo siege with a fluffy pet bird accompanying him. _Hibari Kyoya: bird tamer. I can't believe he charmed it with the freaking school anthem, of all things… Wait. Did he teach_ _it the song himself?_

Whoa. Hibari, singing? Just…wow.

Explosions shook the floor beneath them, and Tsubame knew Gokudera had made it to the first floor, if not the second. Was he up against Chikusa again? Unless Mukuro had a witch doctor of his own at his disposal, Chikusa would still be too injured to put much of a fight, if any. Moreover, Yamamoto would be a better opponent for Chikusa, since his sword could through the strings of his yo-yo with ease.

He'd be fine. They'd all be fine. Well, maybe not Ken… Tsubame bit her lip, chanting apologies in her head. It did nothing to alleviate her guilt.

They had just reached the doors of the theatre when the screaming began – when _Tsuna's_ screams began. Tsubame hastened her pace, and Hibari had no trouble matching her even with…whatever was wrong with him. (She guessed a broken bone or two, which would be painful enough to stop anyone in their tracks.)

Hibari shook her off and burst into the room, not wanting to appear weakened even if it meant having to endure whatever pain was wracking his body. He stared at the room, caught off-guard, while Tsubame tried to make sense of whatever she was seeing.

Tsuna was still standing, thankfully, even if he was screaming his head off. But he wouldn't remain that for long if the floor continued to cave in like that. Chunks of it broke off like a cliff during an avalanche, and Tsuname made sure to stand by the doorway, outside of the room that was currently collapsing and falling into the pits of hell itself.

Which made so sense, because the aftershock would've sent herself and Hibari tumbling as well. In fact, why were Tsuna and the rest about to fall off into white nothingness in the first place? They were on the third floor, not the first, and even then it made no sense.

It was like wearing the glasses for the first time ever. Everything became clear, and when Tsubame blinked, the theatrical sight disappeared. The cinema was still whole, albeit a bit roughed up from the lack of maintenance over the years.

"Senpai," she said urgently, grabbing his forearm lightly, "It isn't real."

Hibari snapped his attention to her. He took in her calm demeanour, looked back into the theatre and narrowed his eyes. The look of alarm had fled his face, and was replaced by irate understanding instead. "Those cherry blossoms weren't real either," he muttered to himself.

Back inside, Tsuna had also returned to reality, thanks to a kick in the face from Reborn. "What was that?!" he screeched, gazing back and forth between Reborn and a man she could only assume was Rokudo Mukuro.

"An illusion," said Reborn. "This guy here is an illusionist, among other things."

Mukuro chuckled loud enough to hear from across the wide room. "Not bad, Arcobaleno. I wasn't aware this generation's _I Prescelti Otto_ now served as mentors for the Vongola."

 _Okaaaaaaaay, I only understood about 75% of that._

"Enough chit-chat," grumbled Hibari. Without further warning, he ran inside, tonfas at the ready. He and Mukuro traded both physical and verbal blows while Tsubame watched them from door. Mukuro used a trident, which covered him as a long-range fighter. What unnerved her most was his red eye, which was also ablaze with an indigo flame – just like Tsuna's forehead did sometimes. What did they call it again? A Dying Will Flame?

Even while injured, Hibari managed to give Mukuro a run for his money. Unable to cope, Mukuro tried to create the illusion of cherry blossoms – she could tell they were fake because they flickered, like fire. Hibari pretended to stumble then, when Mukuro's guard was lowered, dug a tonfa straight into his gut with enough force to send blood shooting out of the illusionist's mouth.

"Wow," she murmured, overwhelmed with awe. When she grew up, she wanted to be just like Hibari. (Well, maybe not _exactly_ like him…)

The stars in her eyes cleared just as Hibari fell forward, finally succumbing to the cries of his body as he fainted. With Mukuro down, Tsubame felt it safe to come out of hiding – there was nothing left to be observed.

She passed by the fallen bodies of Fuuta and Bianchi, which Gokudera had already checked on. Tsuna called her name as she passed, and she shot him a tight smile before kneeling down beside Hibari. Carefully, she turned him over so that he was lying on his back instead, making it easier for him to breathe. The wound she had done a hodgepodge job on patching had reopened and was bleeding with a vengeance.

"We need to call 119," urged Tsubame.

"Don't worry," assured Reborn. "Vongola's medical team are already on their way."

"There's no need," countered a voice that Tsubame already knew she was going to feature in her nightmares. Mukuro sat up, dragging a hand across his bloody mouth to wipe it clean while the other held a gun out in their direction. "There'll be no one left alive after this."

They watched, frozen, as Mukuro lifted the gun…and placed it against the side of his own head. He smiled. "Arrivederci."

Tsubame's legs collapsed from beneath her, shaking so badly that she couldn't even maintain her squat. She stared at Mukuro's crumpled body, her mouth agape in a silent scream.

"He really did it," murmured Gokudera, face twisted into an expression of disgust.

"How…?" choked out Tsuna. "Why did he do something like that?"

Reborn was the only conscious person in the room who wasn't shaken up by witnessing someone commit suicide right in front of him. "He probably preferred to die than to be captured alive," he said clinically.

"How depressing," sighed Gokudera.

Tsuna slapped a hand against his mouth while the other clutched at his stomach. Was he going to be sick? Tsubame understood the sentiment. But no, Mukuro's death wasn't the cause of his current nausea.

"Something- Something's coming," he warned them, eyes darting around the room. He could feel something in the air – but what?

Someone groaned in pain. Bianchi pushed herself off the floor and into a sitting position, one hand tentatively pressed against the stab wound caused by a possessed Tsuna. It had been wrapped up by Reborn during Tsuna's scuffle with Mukuro, but she was obviously in need of proper medical attention before she could be cleared.

"Aniki!" cried Gokudera as approached her.

"Take it easy there," advised Reborn.

Tsubame was still gazing at Mukuro's body.

The bad feeling had yet to leave Tsuna. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Something foul was permeating the air, unseen and unnoticed for all except him. It was the same feeling he had the first time he saw Lancia, and also when Fuuta tried to attack them with Mukuro's trident.

Bianchi smiled up at them dolefully. "Lend me your shoulder, won't you?" she asked of her brother.

Mukuro. Possession. The sickly air.

Tsuna's eyes snapped open. "Gokudera-kun!" he yelled, grabbing his friend's arm before he could touch Bianchi. "Get away from her! That's not Bianchi – it's Mukuro!"

But Gokudera didn't get it. "What?" he said, confused.

Bianchi — Mukuro — smirked. She lunged at Gokudera with the trident, one of the prongs managing to scratch his cheek before he leapt back in shock. They gave her a wide berth as she rose, a leer marring her face. Her right eye turned a bloody shade of red, the kanji for the number 6 glaring at them from the centre. The skin around it stretched and cracked like a porcelain mask about to shatter into a million pieces.

Because that was what they all were to Mukuro, right? Dolls to be manipulated, toys to be played with, masks to be worn so he could move around undetected…

"We meet again," cooed the possessed Bianchi. It was still her face, her body and her voice, but the way she carried herself, the way she spoke – it all screamed of Mukuro.

"But you're dead," said Tsubame, looking from his corpse to his current form.

"I'm much too busy to die," he said dismissively. "In order to accomplish all my goals, I've returned from the depths of hell itself."

Tsubame glanced at Hibari, who was blissfully oblivious to the world around him. _Drama queen indeed._

…Or maybe not as oblivious as she thought. Hibari twitched, and Tsubame leaned down to help him up. Too late did she spot the trident in his hands. He slashed it against her face, drawing blood as well as her free will.

"Tsubame!" screamed Tsuna, panic ringing loud and clear in his voice.

Realisation sunk in as she looked up at Tsuna. Fear shone in his eyes, reflecting the terror welling up within herself. "Tsuna," she gasped weakly, for the edges of her vision were already blurring. "I'm sorry."

She fought the feeling for as long as she could but, in the end, the pain was too much. Tsubame's eyes fell shut, and when they opened once more, she became someone else entirely.

Mukuro's creepy chuckle fell past her lips. "Let's have some fun, Vongola Decimo."


	21. Of Wins and Losses

**A/N:** Review replies

 _Lady Hummingbird,_

I thought it was cute how you did your own research and corrected yourself! It's not something you see every day, especially online.

 _Guest,_

My bad lol yeah it (my explanation) doesn't make sense. Granted, I began writing this fic years ago, so I myself am a bit iffy about the timeline. Basically, Reborn was introduced before this fic, but doesn't show up officially til later.

Ty, Z _ombie-onigiri_ , for calling me out. xoxo

EDITED: 18/05/17

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XXI

 _Of Wins and Losses_

"Kill me."

It wasn't a plea, or even a command. It was a simple request, the wish of someone stuck between a rock and a hard place. Everyone in the room—well, those of them that were still conscious, at any rate—knew death was a much more appealing alternative to whatever punishment Mukuro would be sentenced to once their battle was over for good.

Tsuna bowed his head, unable to watch the desperation creep across Mukuro's bruised and battered face. The action was pointless, since Tsuna's new power—Hyper Intuition, unlocked by Leon's latest gift for him—enhanced his senses to a fine degree. He could feel everything Mukuro felt, and it pained him.

"I can't do that," he murmured, blazing fists clenching through his gloves.

That moment of distraction was all Mukuro needed to leap into action. There was movement in the corner of Tsuna's eye, but by the time he snapped his head up, Mukuro had managed to rush up behind him. His rough hands dug into Tsuna's wrists as he pulled them back, and Tsuna stifled a scream as he felt his bones creak in protest.

"So naïve, Vongola," Mukuro hissed into his ear. "That'll get you killed, you know."

Tsuna struggled and flailed, but Mukuro's grip was as unyielding as a stone statue's. He tried pumping more power into his hands, but the orange flames enshrouding them did little more than flare brightly. Mukuro was wise enough to keep his hands on Tsuna's forearms, away from the heat of the blazing fire.

"Nice try," he said, his complimentary words clashing with his mocking tone. "Your strange power is thanks to the flames on your hands, correct? Well, if I seal your arms, there's nothing to be afraid of."

The back of Tsuna's head exploded in pain as Mukuro rammed his forehead against it. Gasping, he fell forward, but Mukuro refused to let go. "Do you know why I sent so many assassins after you?" he asked, driving a knee into Tsuna's back with a grunt. "It's so I can you possess you after you've drawn out your full potential. Good work," he added, and Tsuna could _hear_ him smirk.

"Please," he continued, yanking Tsuna's arms back one last time before throwing him forward with a vicious kick, "rest up!"

Tsuna hissed as he was thrown through the air and towards the wall. His intuition flashed, but before he could do anything about it, he crashed into the wall and thus the trident that had been sticking out of it, ready to stab him through. With a wet cough, Tsuna slumped forward and off the pronged weapon. He collapsed onto the floor while Mukuro calmly strode towards him, an air of smug satisfaction rolling off of him in waves.

He lost. He actually lost. Tsuna's eyes burned as tears began to stream down his cheeks. He tilted his head to the side, where Reborn looked at him with those endless black pits that he had as eyes. "No-Good Tsuna," he sighed. "Wake up."

What?

"Wake up!"

A smart _SLAP_ resounded in the Sawada household as its resident hitman-turned-tutor smacked his latest pupil across the face. Tsuna's gasp heightened into a scream as he tumbled out of his bed in shock. "Reborn!" he yelled once he fought his way out of his blanket. "What was that for?!"

"You were having another nightmare," responded Reborn.

Right. A nightmare – that was all it was. In reality, Tsuna had reacted in time. His flames to powered up of their own accord, allowing him to slow himself down before he could come into contact with the trident.

The smirk on Mukuro's bloodied face slid right off as Tsuna switched directions mid-air and propelled himself forward. He seemed to be frozen in shock at the seemingly impossible move Tsuna had just pulled off, so much so that he didn't even try to dodge Tsuna's attack.

Roaring, Tsuna slammed his gloved hand onto Mukuro's face and pushed him down to the ground. The wooden floorboards imploded as they came crashing down, forming a crater around them. His hand still on Mukuro, Tsuna willed his flames to pulse and heat up. When he retracted it, the dark cracks splintering Mukuro's face disappeared, his Dying Will Flame having purified the cursed power the illusionist had drawn on to fight.

And then those creepy Vindice people came and dragged the Kokuyo trio back to prison. Tsuna shivered at the memory of Ken and Chikusa kicking and screaming as they fought futilely to pull the chains off of them.

"Do you have any updates on Mukuro and the rest?" Tsuna asked Reborn solemnly.

Reborn peered at him for a moment before nodding. "Lancia's name is cleared of all the crimes committed while under Mukuro's possession. M.M.'s being held at a maximum security prison, different to that of Mukuro. He and his two lackeys have been sent to Vendicare."

Vendicare, the prison controlled by the bandaged men known as the Vindice. According to Reborn, the wardens had been around ever since the mafia became a thing. He didn't say so, but Tsuna could tell Reborn himself was wary of them. He supposed it made sense, since they had to maintain order and control over the most fearsome criminals the underworld had ever seen, but…

"Are they cruel?"

"Inordinately so," Reborn said, point-blank. "Still entertaining delusions about getting them to free Mukuro and his gang?"

His tone was scathing, his gaze sardonic. But Tsuna nodded anyway. "You said it yourself, right? That my flames purified the evil inside him, or something. That means he can change. How's he supposed to do that when he's locked up in prison? Who knows what could happen to him in there? Besides," he added, eyes on his lap, "Tsubame hasn't been the same since that day."

She had regained consciousness first, being the least injured out of everyone involved in the fight against Mukuro. Her body was sore all over thanks to the reckless treatment it had experienced under Mukuro's control, but she was otherwise okay…physically, at least. When Tsuna had informed her about Chikusa's fate, she pretty much shut down and laid back in the hospital bed, only tuning back in as he explained what happened after Mukuro had shot himself once the others woke up.

It had been two weeks since then, and Tsuna had only just been discharged from the hospital. His sudden shift into Hyper Dying Will mode, in combination the constant beatings he had taken, had done quite a number on his body. Even after his friends were free to leave the hospital, they visited him practically every day, entertaining him with recounts of their daily lives.

Except things weren't really the same anymore. Whatever progress Tsubame had made over the past few months she'd been in Namimori had been destroyed in less than a week. She was back to being cold and quiet, only offering an occasional smirk or smile at their antics. Gokudera saw her most thanks to their living situations, and confessed she spent most of her alone time staring aimlessly out the window, at her apartment, or at the TV.

At that point, Yamamoto had chipped in, confirming Gokudera's words by adding that she had done the same whenever he invited her out to eat, or dropped by, or dragged her along to one of his baseball practises.

"And she didn't even protest?" asked Tsuna. Watching a bunch of sweaty dudes run around a park just didn't seem like her cup of tea.

Yamamoto shook his head. "She didn't say much of anything, really."

"You need to keep her busy," said Reborn. "Keep her mind off things."

They tried. Yamamoto got her a job at Takesushi while Gokudera kept her company in their apartments. In a way, they were all doing as Reborn said – keeping busy. When Yamamoto wasn't practising for the tournament, he was visiting Tsuna at the hospital or helping his dad out at their restaurant. Gokudera kept up with the politics of the underworld in his spare time, as well as learning how to cook since Tsubame was reluctant to make anything that involved using a knife.

And Tsuna? His life remained busy as he tried to keep his friends and family from blowing up the hospital whenever they visited. He was pretty sure Lambo was going to be banned for life from Namimori's central hospital at this rate. Reborn was relentless as ever, using Tsuna's inability to move to drill him with information and facts about the Vongola and other key Families. It was hell.

"Tsu-kun?" His mum knocked once before opening the door. "You awake? Would you like some lunch?"

Tsuna smiled. "Sure. What's on the menu today?"

Mum chuckled mysteriously. "You'll see."

Mildly apprehensive, Tsuna followed her out the door and downstairs. Now that he thought about it, it was a bit too quiet. He looked to Reborn for guidance, but his home tutor had vanished. Tsuna tensed, his footsteps slowing as he turned the corner and headed into the kitchen.

 _Pops_ filled the air, and Tsuna almost jumped right out of his skin before he realised the cause wasn't gunshots or explosions or anything like that – it was party poppers. Brightly-coloured streamers were taped along the wall as balloons hovered by the ceiling. Everyone was standing behind the dining table, which almost groaned beneath all the food piled on top of it.

"Congrats on being discharged, Tenth!" said Gokudera, a bright grin on his face.

Yamamoto beamed at him. "Welcome back, Tsuna."

His mum wrapped him in a hug from behind. "Welcome home, Tsu-kun."

Tsuna smiled so widely his cheeks began to hurt. "You guys did all this for me?" he asked giddily.

"And the food," said Reborn, who was already beginning to dig in. "You lot better hurry up before we eat it all."

"Here, Hayato," Bianchi said, handing Gokudera a plate of inedible poison cooking. He abruptly paled and hid behind Tsuna's mum.

Tsuna grabbed himself some sushi, courtesy of Yamamoto, as well as some curry rice before heading outside. Tsubame was already out there on the porch, her own plate full of salad and pasta as she watched the white clouds drift over the blue sky.

"Hey, Tsuna," she said as he sat down next to her. "You feeling okay?"

He nodded, picking at his food. "You?"

"I guess," she said, when they both knew she meant 'no'. They ate in silence for a while, watching the scenery as well as his rowdy family as they streamed outside and did what they did best: cause chaos. "There's going to be a trial."

The comment was so out-of-the-blue that Tsuna had to wait a few seconds before the words could sink in. "What?" he finally said.

Tsubame lowered her fork. "I called my parents and told them about Chikusa. They know about Vindicare prison, and said that people can argue for the sake of the prisoners, to shorten their time or get them out completely. Since they're family, and since they're pretty aware of what happened to Chikusa as a child, they can have a say in what happens to him."

"That's great!" Tsuna said sincerely. "Isn't it?"

"It is," she acknowledged with the shadow of a smile. "But they also told me not to get my hopes up. He was Mukuro's accomplice, after all, and they don't take too kindly to criminals whose goals include a world drenched in blood and war," she said dryly.

"What a nut," Gokudera snorted, squeezing into the spot between Tsuna and Tsubame. He really took the whole right-hand man thing a bit too seriously. "Seriously, I get wanting to destroy the mafia, but the whole world too? Insane."

Yamamoto hummed thoughtfully as he lowered himself next to Tsubame's unoccupied size. "Wasn't he going through some stuff, though?"

"Yeah," murmured Tsubame, stabbing her fork into her salad. "Human experimentation. Can you imagine? Spending your childhood as a lab rat, being subjected to who-knows-what every day until you finally grow strong enough to kill your tormentors with your own bare hands… That guy needs some serious therapy."

Gokudera shoved a chip into his mouth. "You should tell your parents to add that to their line of argument: therapy, not jail."

The barb wasn't even that funny, but they laughed despite the morbidity of it all, because the other alternative was to cry, and they couldn't afford to do that, not in front of his mum and Lambo and I-Pin and Fuuta, who took so long to fully believe that he had done nothing wrong when Mukuro kidnapped him. Besides, it was a party; there were no room for tears here.

"Oh, Tsubame," Yamamoto said after they settled down. "You're not wearing the DC band around your hair anymore."

"Yeah," she murmured, running a hand through her ponytail. It was so long and thick that it brushed against the polished floorboards of the porch. "I haven't worn it since Hibari suspended me."

"Wow," said Tsuna, swallowing the last of his curry. "That sounds serious. What made him do that?"

Tsubame's face scrunched up as she tried to think back. "You know what? I don't even remember. But whatever. I tried visiting him at the hospital after—you know—and it was really awkward."

"Awkward?" echoed Tsuna. "How? Why?"

She shrugged. "Just was. By the way, you might wanna dodge."

"Wha—?"

Tsuna never got to finish, because that was when he spotted the tennis ball shooting right across his head. He felt it tease the tips of his hair as he dodged, screeching.

"Tenth!" yelped Gokudera. He leapt up, throwing his plate off of his lap in the process. "Who did that?!"

Lambo's obnoxious laughter was all the answer they needed. Growling, Gokudera rushed towards him, berating him loudly along the way. Lambo responded by pulling a face and running off, prompting a game of chase that had I-Pin and Fuuta eagerly joining in.

Yamamoto laughed and Tsubame cracked a smile. Tsuna leaned back on the palms of his hands, watching them all fondly. Things weren't quite the same, but it was enough.

* * *

Technically, Haru was supposed to be supporting the away team. The Midori Boys' middle school baseball team were skilled, and everyone knew it. But they still couldn't beat Namimori's team, not when their star player Yamamoto Takeshi was on a roll.

For all the elitism their school boasted about, its students were the same as any other. The girls in Haru's school loved to gossip, and she had to admit she wasn't above listening in from time to time. Based on what she'd heard, the Midori Boys were banking on Yamamoto's slump and subsequent injury to seize the championship themselves. They didn't plan on Yamamoto making a full recovery weeks before the tournament, nor did they realise he'd return to his former fervour and crush them all with almost no trouble.

Their loss was the result of poor planning on their part, and so when the whistle was blown and the final scores tallied up, Haru joined the rest of the gang in leaping out of her seat and cheering fervently for Namimori's success. Noticing how Tsubame remained seated, she reached down and enveloped her in a happy hug. Tsubame smiled indulgently at her unbridled joy. Yamamoto waved up at them from the field, grinning hugely.

"Yamamoto!" roared Kyoko's overzealous brother. "I knew you could it!"

"Yeah, right," scoffed the rude boy known as Gokudera Hayato, aka Haru's rival for Tsuna's affections. "Not ten minutes ago you said they'd lose."

Ryohei started screaming louder the moment Gokudera opened his mouth, effectively drowning him out. Tsuna slapped himself in the face from his seat between them.

They left as a group to TakeSushi for the celebratory party. Everything had been planned by the Yamamotos and Tsubame; even if their team had lost, the dinner would've progressed anyway, just as a conciliatory one.

"Sushi! Sushi!" sang the kids as they ran off, leading them. Tsuna's mum was only one step behind them, watchful of her unofficial children. Lambo _was_ notorious for robbing candy stores when no one was looking, after all.

As they left the stadium, Haru snatched up both Tsubame's and Kyoko's hands in each of her own, swinging them merrily. Tsubame flexed her right hand within Haru's grip but, unlike the first time, didn't try to snatch her hand away from her grip. She had given up fighting it, allowing her hand to hang in hers like a limp fish.

"I'm so glad the break's finally here," she sighed. "Finals are over, and you know what that means!"

She and Kyoko exchanged giddy looks and said, "Cake dates!"

"You should join us, Tsubame-chan!" invited Kyoko, and because it was her, it sounded sincere.

Tsubame probably picked up on it as well. "Only if they have cheesecake," she said with a smile.

"Oh, thank god you said yes," said Haru, visibly relieved. "Ever since Hana-chan rejected our offer, I was starting to think Kyoko and I were the weird ones, hahi."

It was nice, letting out her quirk without having to be embarrassed about it. The first time her trademark hiccup had emerged was when she was seven and had just been to her very first parade. She couldn't remember _why_ there was one in the first place, too caught up in the festivities and the floats and costumes that streamed by on the streets of New York. When she returned to Japan and offered her story for show-and-tell, her excitable hiccup had slipped out, prompting the entire class to laugh at her.

She refused to speak up after that, afraid to be the object of such ridicule again. Her parents tried to coax her out of her self-imposed muteness, assuring her that it was endearing and unique, just like the rest of her. It worked, to an extent. Haru livened up again, despite the occasional slap of shame she felt whenever her speech impediment popped up.

It was why she adored Tsuna so much – he was the person to not react to her quirk, not even to give her an odd look. Better yet, his friends followed suit, and Haru felt closer to them in the handful of months she'd known them than the girls she hung with at school every day.

"Why did Hana decline?" asked Tsubame, nudging a loose piece of gravel with her foot.

"Same reason she didn't come today," said Kyoko in a conspiratorial sort of whisper. "She hates having fun."

Tsubame snorted. "No, really."

Kyoko nodded seriously, widening her eyes as if to convey the earnestness behind her words. A month ago, Haru would've been fooled by Kyoko's apparent innocence, but after spending so much time together, she knew better by now.

As did Tsubame, apparently. "I doubt anyone _actively_ hates enjoying themselves," she said, but then a sliver of doubt snuck into her voice. "Even if Hana looks like the type."

With a giggle, Kyoko finally gave up on her pretence. "She just doesn't like eating sweets. And she's out celebrating her little brother's birthday with her family today to come and hang."

Surprised, Haru stopped swinging their interlocked hands. "She has a brother? But doesn't she hate children?" Personally, she didn't know how anyone could hate kids – they were so small and cute and pure.

Kyoko nodded. "It's because she has a little brother that she hates kids so much."

"Must be one hell of a brat," muttered Tsubame with a pointed look at Lambo, who was currently trying to pick a fight with a stray cat. The adults and kids had already gone ahead, leaving the teens behind in their haste to start paying. Only Lambo dilly-dallied and, without the watchful eye of Nana on him, he took to doing whatever he wanted.

 _Wait a minute,_ Tsubame thought, slowing in her steps, _I know that cat._

She just finished untangling her hand from Haru's when the familiar black cat, fed up with Lambo's poking and prodding, attacked with a hiss. Shrieking, Lambo fell back, his tiny hands pressed against the angry scratches stretching out from cheek to cheek.

Haru gasped. "Poor thing!"

Tsubame frowned sympathetically as she scooped up the cat in her arms. "He's okay," she assured Haru.

"I meant Lambo-kun!"

"Oh."

Poor Lambo indeed. First he had been struck by a mangy old cat, and then he was ignored in favour of the stray!

"Hold…it…in…" he said through gritted teeth.

"You really shouldn't provoke animals like that," Tsubame said admonishingly.

It was too much. "I can't!" sobbed Lambo. To the girls' amazement, he pulled out a bright purple bazooka from his afro and shoved himself into the end ammunition was supposed to come out from.

 _Is… Is he going to shoot himself into the sky?_ was Tsubame's wild guess.

From inside the bazooka, Lambo tugged on a string connected to the trigger. Pink smoke, of all things, erupted from within, spooking the cat and sending it running off. Tsubame was right in the thick of it, and coughed violently as the ridiculously coloured fumes invaded her lungs.

Tsubame expected to see a heavily sobbing Lambo once the smoke cleared instead. When she peered down, though, she was faced with a guy around her age, if a little older. His wavy black hair made his green eyes all the more prominent, but her attention was snatched away by his clothing. A pendant resembling bullhorns hung from the necklace curled tightly around his neck and above his practically bare chest. He was wearing a shirt alright, but the cow-printed top and the black blazer atop of it were unbuttoned save for the one in the middle, flashing most of his torso and some of his stomach.

Haru screamed. "Pervert!" she yelled, pointing an accusing finger at the groggy teen. "What did you do with Lambo-kun?!"

The green-eyed newcomer held out his hands in front of him in a pleading gesture. "I'm right here," he said, and then it clicked.

Black hair, green eyes, weird obsession with cow patterns? The nudity was new, though (well, not really, since Lambo liked to run around the house naked before and after bathing sometimes). She was looking at an older version of Lambo.

"Wha?" she said eloquently.

"He's telling the truth," offered Tsuna. "That thing he used is called the Ten Year Bazooka, and when you use it, you switch places with your future self."

"Whoa," she murmured. "That's so cool."

"Isn't it?" laughed Yamamoto. "That kid always has the best toys."

"It's not a toy!" snapped Gokudera, before adding a muttered, "Even if the cow brat treats it like one…"

Teenage Lambo yawned as he stood up from his seat on the ground. "I've forgotten how noisy you guys used to be," he grumbled, dusting himself off and ignoring Tsuna's indignant squawk at the hypocrisy of it all. "Short, too," he added, looking directly at Tsubame.

Gokudera's guffaws filled her ears as she gaped at Lambo. _Ten years into the future and he's still a piece of shit!_

Lambo smiled down at her. "Just kidding, Tsu'me," he said, his slurred voice butchering her name and cutting out a whole syllable entirely. Before she could stop him, he reached out and grabbed the end of her ponytail. "You look differently with your hair like this," he noted, pressing the tips of her hair against his lips.

Frowning, he let it slip through his fingers when he noticed her reaction. Tsubame had turned into a statue—albeit a very red one—as she stared, stunned at teenage Lambo's audacity. "Ah," he said awkwardly. "You're not used to this sort of thing yet, are you? Well, look at the time." He glanced at his watch. "My visit should be up soon. Bye!"

Just as Lambo turned to leave, a cloud of smoke enveloped him. A second later, his much more preferred younger self appeared, his hands sticky with candy.

Two thoughts swam into Tsubame's head at that moment. The first was that she needed a haircut, ASAP. The second was _What the hell do I turn into in ten years' time?_

The answer to that question came a lot earlier than she thought it would.

* * *

 _Alternate title:_ Of Consequences and Celebrations


	22. Of Change

**A/N:** Last chapter marked the record of most reviews for a single chap! To those who reviewed for the first time last month, hi! To those of you who've been reviewing from the beginning, I love you.

Special shout-out to _Zombie-onigiri_ for calling me out on my bad behaviour. I went back and updated things after reading your message.

And _Lady Hummingbird_ , your spelling is absolutely fine!

On another note, I had the wildest day at uni today. We had to write an example of a fanfic for this text we're studying—as a model for a potential activity we could have high schoolers do because of literacy and stuff—and people were laughing about their fanfic phase when they were kids. Meanwhile, I was sweating bullets since I'm not only still avidly reading fanfic, I'm writing it too lmao.

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

XXII

 _Of Change_

Despite popular opinion, Tsubame loathed summer. It was the season she liked least, since it was the hottest, most humid and most sweat-inducing of them all. The only upside was that it was a break from work and school, creating the opportunity for fun-filled days and rose-coloured memories that people could cherish forever and always. For most people, anyway.

Tsubame herself was quite content to spend her summer indoors, basking in the artificial coolness of her air conditioner. Like the leech that he was, Gokudera capitalised on her reluctance to leave her flat by laying around in her living room and enjoying the feel of her AC against his skin. He even turned it up sometimes so that it could reach his own apartment, and Tsubame wasn't sure whether to feel amused or irritated by his boldness.

"You're never getting that hole in the wall fixed, are you?" she asked, glancing at the giant gap to her left. It was a wonder the wall was still standing.

"That'd be a waste of money," Gokudera said flippantly as he rummaged through her fridge. "You're out of ice cream again, by the way."

She threw the AC remote at his head with surprising accuracy. Anger did wonders for her aim. "Buy it yourself," she grumbled. She yelped as the remote came straight back her way, hitting her right in the head.

"When are you working next?" asked Gokudera, slamming the fridge door closed. "Buy it then."

"You kidding me?" Tsubame scoffed. "It's like a constant thirty-three out there. The people here don't like sushi _that_ much. I work, like, once a week since Yamamoto's available to help out now."

But Gokudera wouldn't give up that easily; defeatism just wasn't him. "Ask the guy next door for some," he said. "He has a crush on you, right? He'll probably empty out his fridge for you."

Tsubame rolled her eyes as she flicked through the TV for something watchable. "Shoichi does _not_ have a crush on me."

"Yeah, and I'm not suited to be the Tenth's right-hand man," he jeered.

"I'm glad to see you've come to accept reality for what it is, Hayato."

"Oh, fuc— Tenth messaged me!" Gokudera's nasty attitude did a one-eighty as he checked his phone. It was pretty cute, she had to admit, watching his face light up over something as a small as a text from Tsuna. She kind of envied the brunette that way. "He and the rest of his esteemed family will be heading to the local pool tomorrow, and we're invited."

"Pass."

"You can't pass!" protested Gokudera. "Tenth himself invited you!"

Tsubame tore her eyes away from the TV to glare at him. "Have you forgotten I don't know how to swim?"

The indignation on his face shifted into mocking amusement. "Oh, that's right, you're totally useless when it comes to a little water," he snickered.

"Keep laughing and I'll invite Lambo over."

Gokudera abruptly piped down.

In the end, she was glad she had declined Tsuna's offer. Haru and Kyoko were going out for cake _again_ , and even the heat wave wouldn't deter them from their sugar fix. Not wanting to remain in the apartment all by her lonesome, Tsubame joined them, furiously waving the plastic fan she had received from I-Pin's master.

The café was refreshingly cool after the fifteen-minute walk through the intense heat. At least it wasn't as humid today, otherwise she would've had to swim through the streets.

A bell chimed overhead as she opened the door, notifying both the staff and the customers of her entrance. Haru, who was facing the same way, waved her open with a bright smile on her face. How she managed to remain so chipper in this heat, Tsubame would never know.

"Have you guys ordered yet?" she asked, sitting down. She refused to let go of her fan, pumping her arm up and down and propelling the air-conditioned air onto her.

Kyoko shook her head, and not a single strand of her caramel-coloured hair moved out of place. "We were waiting for you."

"I'll do it for you guys, then," she decided, rising. "The usual?"

Kyoko nodded, but Haru said, "It's a bit too heavy for mud cake today. Can you grab a strawberry shortcake for me instead?"

"Sure." After collecting their money, Tsubame headed over to the counter. In addition to Haru's shortcake, she got a slice of tiramisu for Kyoko and a fruit tart for herself. It was summer, after all.

"Would you like any drinks with that?" asked the server.

"Just table water, thanks."

The server shot her a dirty look, and Tsubame could practically hear the words _cheap bitch_ echo in her mind. She responded by paying the correct amount down to the last digit, forgoing a tip entirely. The server's glare only intensified, but it fazed as her much as Gokudera's scowl did – that was to say, not very much.

When their cakes came, they dug in eagerly. Haru's lips curled into a content smile, a hand pressed against a cheek as she wiggled in delight. "It's so good! You guys have to try it." As if she needed to tell them; they always shared their slices whenever they went out together.

Kyoko grinned. "I might have to buy a whole one home to share with my brother," she admitted.

Tsubame's eyes almost bugged out of her head. "A whole cake between the two of you?" Ryohei _did_ seem like the type to eat a lot, but still, it was a bit much.

Nami Middle's idol shrugged sheepishly. "I'm not really the type to gain weight easily."

"You disgust me."

"Hana reacted the exact same way," Kyoko confessed with a laugh. "But don't get me wrong – it's not like I just sit around all day. I shop and cook and clean, and I also do yoga."

"Wow!" Haru's eyes lit up. "Does that mean you're super flexible?"

"I can do the splits," Kyoko said proudly. "Hana-chan's even better, though. She does _pilates."_

"Wow!" Haru said once more, but then she paused. "What's that?"

"It's like yoga, but more intense," explained Kyoko. She waved her spoon wildly in the air as she continued her enthusiastic explanation. "It teaches you how to regulate your breathing, makes you more flexible, and you can even strengthen your body against injuries if you get good enough."

What was left of Tsubame's cake was abandoned as she tuned into Kyoko's speech fully. "That sounds…" _Useful_. "Amazing. Is it DIY like yoga, or…?"

Kyoko shook her head. "You have to get someone to teach you in person. Hana-chan's mum is a pro, which is why she learns it. Why, Tsubame-chan? Are you interested?"

Almost subconsciously, Tsubame brought up her hand to her left cheek. Any traces of the cut caused by Mukuro's trident was gone completely thanks to the skilled hands of Vongola's medical team, but sometimes she felt like it was still there, a tight pucker against her otherwise unmarked skin.

"Yeah," she said, "I am."

* * *

In the blink of an eye, summer shifted into autumn, and they were all sent back to school. Tsubame was very tempted to skip the first day, since it was just introductory crap anyway, but Gokudera's stomps put any thoughts of sleeping in out of her mind. It was a wonder he aspired to be a hitman when his targets could probably hear him from miles away.

After breakfast, they headed to Tsuna's house, where Yamamoto was already waiting. "Yo," he said, smiling at them as they neared. "Today marks the first day of our final year of middle school. Can you believe it? We're third-years now!"

Tsubame mustered up a smile in response to Yamamoto's giddiness as she tried to keep her eyes open, but Gokudera wasn't interested in humouring him. "It feels the same," he said with an eye-roll.

Yamamoto rolled with it, the good-natured guy that he was. "That's because you weren't here for the beginning of last year, Gokudera. And neither were you, Tsubame. Man, when I think about the way I was a year from now…" He trailed off with a tight smile. "Makes you wonder where we'll be this time next year, huh?"

Truthfully, Tsubame didn't think she had changed that much since the year before, but then again, self-progress was difficult to gauge sometimes.

"I know exactly where I'll be in a year's time," Gokudera said cockily. "I'll be right by the Tenth's side, of course."

Yamamoto grinned. "His right side?"

"It doesn't matter which one, you idiot."

"You hear that, Tsubame? Guess the position as Tsuna's right-hand man is open after all."

Tsubame flipped her hair, which was a lot easier to do now that it was shoulder-length and unbound. "Wasn't it always?" she said, smirking at Gokudera's steadily reddening face.

"You—!"

Once again, Gokudera's impending explosion was cut off by the timely intervention of Tsuna. He stumbled out the front door, grains of rice still stuck on his face. "Sorry for making you wait, guys," he said with an apologetic smile.

"It was nothing, Tenth!" declared Gokudera. "We've only just arrived!"

Yamamoto pointed at his chin. "Tsuna, you have—"

"A brilliant aura today," Tsubame interjected smoothly.

As Tsuna offered a weirded-out response, Tsubame gave Yamamoto a look. He looked between her side-eye and Tsuna's oblivious expression, grinned, and gave her a thumbs-up to convey his understanding. Tsubame closed her eyes briefly. Subtlety definitely wasn't Yamamoto's strong suit.

"Sorry I could barely hang with you guys in the break," she said as they made their way to school. "I didn't feel like it."

Tsuna sighed. "Your apologies could really use some work, you know that?" He shook his head, perhaps aware that she wasn't going to improve any time soon. "It's okay, you didn't miss out much. Lambo destroyed one of the public pool's slides, so we had to work it off as lifeguards at the beach—"

Gokudera made a rude sound in the back of his throat and even Yamamoto looked peeved, making Tsubame wonder what on earth had happened on that beach.

"—and then we had to sell some bananas at a stand in the tanabata festival to pay off our debt." Tsuna pulled a face. "And if that weren't bad enough, someone tried stealing our profits and Hibari started a fight against, like, fifty thugs and somehow _we_ got involved and…" He sighed again. "Isn't summer meant to be a season for relaxation?"

Tsubame played with the ends of her hair, debating on whether or not to tell Tsuna that the peaceful days of his life were gone the moment Reborn showed up on his doorstep. Instead, she said, "Hibari was at the festival? Why?" Her brow knit together; he didn't seem like the type to enjoy festivals like that. Too crowded, as he would say.

"He was there to steal from stall owners," said Gokudera. "Including us. But the Tenth fought him off!"

"…Come again?"

So it turned out the disciplinary committee accumulated their funds by hustling it out of the stallholders. If they didn't pay the fifty-thousand yen fee, their stalls would be torn down by the DC's bare hands. In the end, though, Tsuna had stood up against Hibari, refusing to hand over his hard-earned profits. I-Pin was also involved somehow – maybe Hibari had a soft spot for her?

"Wow," Tsubame murmured once they were done. "Sounds like I missed out on a lot. Maybe I should've gone after all."

"Why didn't you?" Yamamoto asked curiously.

"I was in a pilates coma."

"A what?"

Tsubame waved a hand dismissively. "I'm kinda surprised Hibari would do that, though. I mean, I always knew he wasn't a _nice_ person, but…"

"I'm sure he has his reasons," Tsuna said sceptically, even as Yamamoto and Gokudera made faces that stated the contrary.

"Oh well." Tsubame stretched her back, working out the kinks of her body. "At least I'm not affiliated with the DC anymore, so it's not my problem if the town suddenly decides to rebel against their dictator."

The tautness in her arms was killing her, so Tsubame began to stretch and flex them as they turned the corner. More students appeared, using the main streets to head to school. She spotted a few familiar faces, but there were only two she was pleased to see.

"Tsubame!" roared Ryohei. "Getting warmed up for our race to school? Good on you! I'll do the same."

Kyoko ducked her head slightly, embarrassed by her brother's outlandish assumption. Tsubame sent her a helpless shrug and smile, knowing it was futile to dissuade Ryohei when he had gotten into one of his moods.

So when he said "Ready?" Tsubame threw her bag at Gokudera and hunched down into a perfect starting position. She was already sprinting before Ryohei could finish shouting "Go!" but, in the end, lost to the human powerhouse known as Nami Middle's boxing team captain.

"Not bad," Ryohei said when she reached the school gates, aka the finish line. "You've improved your breathing technique, and your time is shorter than it was before."

Tsubame looked up at him in surprise. "You've kept track of all that?"

"Of course!" he yelled, causing the nearby students to flinch and/or cover their ears. "You should, too!"

"Oniisan!" cried Kyoko, who was all the way down the road with the others. Despite their distance, she could hear her brother well and clear thanks to his sheer volume. "Don't trouble Tsubame-chan any further!"

"I'm not!" he protested, screwing his lips up like a petulant brat. It was all too reminiscent of Lambo before he threw a temper tantrum. "Right, Tsubame?"

"Uh, sure," she said, wiping away a faint sheen of perspiration from her face with the back of her hand. Ryohei, of course, hadn't broken a sweat in their dash over here. It probably wasn't even a proper warm-up for him. "I need to get on your level."

"Please don't," a random student whimpered as they passed by. Tsubame had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into laughter.

A DC grunt approached them, drawn by their noisiness. His black blazer flared dramatically as he turned towards them, and Tsubame eyed it with a look so full of disgust it only _just_ disguised her envy. Even though autumn had begun, they were still feeling the last of summer's heat, and in no way did it necessitate jackets and jumpers. There was one reason the DC were wearing their blazers, and one reason only: to show off.

"Don't loiter by the gates," barked the grunt. His eyes slid over to her, recognition lighting up in them before it was quashed by haughtiness. Neither the DC's blazer nor the armband were on her person.

"Piss off," she grumbled, turning away.

The courtyard was overflowing with students as they scrambled to check what classes they were assigned to this year. Cries of either exultation or dismay emanated from the press of bodies as they discovered who they were spending their school year with. Tsubame bypassed most of the crowd as she headed to the edge of the noticeboards straight towards the lists of third-year classes. Ryohei trailed after her, and that was when she noticed something.

"Senpai," she said slowly, "aren't you meant to be in high school?"

When people first learnt that Sasagawa Ryohei and Sasagawa Kyoko were indeed related, their first reaction was shock, and then denial. How could someone so rough and tough be related to one of the sweetest girls in town? But when Ryohei hunched his shoulders and smiled sheepishly, it was easy to see the family resemblance.

"Actually, I flunked last year," he admitted. "I'm repeating my third year."

Tsubame's mouth fell open into a small 'o' before she could stop herself. "What happened?"

Instead of drooping with shame, Ryohei clenched his fists and struck a pose, eyes blazing fiercely. "I was extremely into boxing last year!" he declared. "There were so many strong opponents that I just had to focus on improving myself!"

"A true idiot," sighed Gokudera. He and the others had finally caught up, and were now scanning the boards for their names.

"On the bright side," said Yamamoto, "we're all in the same year now."

"The same class as well," Kyoko noted, clapping her hands together in delight.

Tsuna perked up. "Really?" he asked excitably. When he glanced at Kyoko with a blush on his cheeks, it was clear what was on his mind.

"Weird," Tsubame said beneath her breath. What were the chances of them all being in the same class? "You think this is Reborn-san's doing?"

"I had nothing to do with it," said a squeaky voice from above. Reborn was standing on top of the noticeboards, looking as if he'd been there the entire time. "And yes, I've been here the whole time."

"There you go with the telepathy again," said Tsuna, and he sounded like he meant it.

"I don't think he's actually tele—" She stopped short as Reborn pinned her down with a gaze that could swallow her whole. "I mean, are you sure you didn't manipulate the class arrangements, Reborn-san?"

"Of course," he said, lips curling into a smirk. He looked away from her. "Perhaps it was fate?"

Tsubame followed his line of sight. His focus was pinned on Hibari, propped up in a nearby tree and well away from the crowding herbivores beneath him.

 _Is he implying…?_ Tsubame shook her head. As if Hibari would bother himself with something so trivial.

"Right," she said lightly. "Fate."

Gokudera nodded his head so vigorously she wouldn't be surprised if it fell right off. "Fate will always bring the Tenth and I together!" From beside him, Tsuna grimaced.

Tsubame huffed out a small laugh. "Keep talking like that and fate'll hand you a restraining order."

"What do you mean by that? Oi!"

Her life followed a simple routine after that. Get up, wake Gokudera up, head to Tsuna's, meet up with Yamamoto, get to school, try not to slam her head against the table too much in response to the boys' antics. They often split up after class for their own tasks – Yamamoto and Ryohei had training, while she went to the Kurokawas' studio. Hana often took the same classes she did, and their similar personalities resulted in a fast friendship.

"Sometimes I'm bitter over the fact that I'm not in the same class as you and Kyoko," she said one day as they went through their pre-exercise warm-up. "But then I see how tired you are during recess and lunch, not to mention how you seem half-dead when you get here."

Tsubame rolled her eyes as she shifted positions. "Thanks, Hana."

"So?" she prompted, sinking to the ground as she did the splits. "What happened today?"

"The usual. The teacher called out Ryohei-senpai for slacking off in his studies, Gokudera snickered, the two idiots got into a fight right in the middle of class. Tsuna tried to help but got hit in the process, and the teacher was so frustrated that he sent them _all_ to detention."

Hana laughed. It was nice sound, and it was almost a shame it was directed towards Tsuna's misfortune. "Sawada's always getting the short end of the stick, huh?"

Tsubame arched her eyebrows. "Not when it comes to Kyoko. She was already grateful that Tsuna tried to stop the fight, but when he took the blame for it? You should've seen how much she doted on him."

"Tch." Hana's face screwed up, as it always did whenever she brought up the topic of Kyoko's love life. "She could do so much better."

"You say that about literally every guy that shows interest in her," Tsubame reminded her with a small grin.

"That's because men are monkeys, Tsubame – don't forget that."

She thought about Yamamoto, Gokudera and Ryohei, and how often they kicked up a fuss both inside and out of class. "I'd be hard-pressed to," she sighed.

Tsubame thought about Hana's words of wisdom as the lesson began. Sure, the guys gave her a headache from time to time, but they also made her ridiculously happy. Whenever she started to slip into the deep end, they brought her back with a smile.

She cherished their peaceful days together (or as peaceful as they could get with Reborn's presence in their lives). Of course, just as she was settling into the full swing of things, reality reared its ugly head up and spat right in their faces.

The Varia were in town – and they were out for blood.


	23. Of Rings and Resolve

XXIII

 _Of Rings and Resolve_

The day started off normally enough. Tsubame went through her pre-school routine, and it was only when Tsuna emerged from his house that things began to go off-track.

The first time he heaved a sigh heavier than all their weight combined, the three of them exchanged a look behind his back. The next sigh came but five minutes later, and Yamamoto ventured a, "What's up, Tsuna?"

"Huh?" he mumbled, shaking himself out of his reverie. "Oh, nothing. It's just…my dad's coming back soon."

Tsubame's concern shifted into surprise. "You have a dad?"

"Everyone has a dad, idiot," Gokudera said condescendingly.

"Keep mouthing off to me and I'll make sure your future kids won't."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"It does too."

"Does n— You know what? I'm not even going to bother." He shot her a glare before gazing at Tsuna adoringly. "Where has your father been all this time, Tenth?"

"To be honest?" said Tsuna. "I don't even know. Every time I asked him what he did when I was little, he'd give me a different response."

Yamamoto frowned. "How long has he been gone?"

Tsuna glanced downwards as he muttered, "Two years. He hasn't contacted us in all this time, so why show up now?"

Tsubame was floored. From the sounds of it, the Sawada patriarch sounded like the typical deadbeat dad. Briefly, she pondered on how different Tsuna's life would be if his dad was actually around. Would he be smarter, braver, stronger? They'd never know, because his dad had been absent for the most crucial years of Tsuna's life.

Yamamoto clicked his fingers in an 'a-ha!' moment, dispelling the gloomy atmosphere. "How about we ditch class and go somewhere?" he suggested with a smile. "It's only a half-day today, after all."

Gokudera brightened. "It'll take your mind off of your family, too. Besides," he added with a wide grin, "my family is much more messed up than yours."

Tsubame offered a thumbs-up. "Same."

Tsuna's eyes widened comically. "Don't say things like that with a straight face!" he shrieked.

"It's settled, then," declared Yamamoto. "Let's invite the others as well."

"Fine," huffed Gokudera. "But keep the idiots out of this."

"Don't be like that, Gokudera," protested Tsubame. "You should come too."

Ten minutes later, she was massaging the angry red mark on the bridge of her nose. In his fit of fury, Gokudera had slammed his hand against her face in an attempt to push her. The press of his hand against her hadn't hurt, but one of his rings managed to catch her nose, leaving a tiny dent in the skin that would hopefully disappear in due time.

"I still can't believe you actually hit me," she grumbled, her voice sounding nasally as she continued to massage her nose.

Gokudera snorted. "You were asking for it," he said, but she caught the sliver of guilt in his green eyes.

 _Aw, he does care._

Tsuna frowned. "You shouldn't hit girls, Gokudera-kun," he said, puffing his chest up in a show of chivalry. It went to waste, though, especially since Kyoko was more interested in whatever I-Pin was saying instead of him.

"That's sexist, Tsuna," Tsubame informed him.

"Besides," said Gokudera, "she doesn't count." He crumpled as Tsubame punched him in the side, letting out a choked-off cry as she hit a sensitive spot.

"I didn't know you were ticklish," laughed Yamamoto.

Lambo paused mid-march and turned to Gokudera, a leer on his face. "Stupidera's ticklish!" he proclaimed like a war-cry, and soon the part-Italian teen was fighting off three children, laughing painfully the entire time.

The people milling about the shopping district watched as the odd procession made their way down the streets. Tsuna seemed to shrink at the unwanted attention, but Tsubame shrugged it off; with a group as boisterous as theirs, it was only natural that people would stop and stare.

"I told you not to invite the idiots," Gokudera grumbled once the kids got bored of torturing him.

"Don't speak of the children that way!" snapped Haru, and Tsubame had to blink to get the image of them as an old married couple out of her head.

"Speaking of," piped up Reborn from Yamamoto's shoulder, "where's that stupid cow?"

A minute of frantic searching found Lambo in the front display of a pet store. He had somehow snuck his way into one of the individual glass cages and was dozing off obliviously.

"He fits in perfectly," noted Yamamoto, while Tsuna was forced to run into the store and apologise to the owner.

Haru kneeled down to gawk at an attention-starved kitty batting at the window. "They're all so cute," she gushed.

 _Should I tell her about the brutal reality behind these pet stores?_ Tsubame frowned contemplatively, but then she felt someone tug at her sleeve.

"Tsubame-nee!" chirped Fuuta. He held out his arms for her. "Can I get a piggy-back ride?"

If Tsubame had only one weakness in the world, it was the eight-year-old in front of her. "Of course," she said brightly.

Fuuta giggled insanely as she lifted him up, his arms around her neck while she supported his legs. "You sure I'm not too heavy?" he asked conscientiously.

"You're as light as a feather," she assured him, and she was only partly lying. While Fuuta wasn't entirely light, he wasn't heavy either. Pilates demanded a lot of upper _and_ lower body strength, to her surprise.

Yamamoto feigned surprise as he inched closer to them. "Whoa, Fuuta, you've grown so much since I last saw you. You're my height now! What's your secret?"

She didn't see so much as hear Fuuta grin. "Eat lots of veggies!"

"No fair!" yelled Lambo. "Lambo-san wants to be tall too!"

Tsubame tensed, expecting to pull out that ridiculous time-travelling bazooka of his, but Lambo simply began climbing Tsuna like a tree. "Tsuna, carry me!" he demanded.

Tsuna gathered the obstinate child into his arms. "This is the best I can do."

"Lame," whined Lambo. He got over it pretty quickly, and diverted his attention to several vending machines tucked to the side of the street. "Buy me a drink! A sweet one!"

Rather than putting his foot down, Tsuna sighed and acquiesced, if only to quieten Lambo. Not wanting to ditch Tsuna, the rest of them followed. Tsubame bought herself a green tea despite Gokudera's muttered, "Just like an old man."

"Says the geezer with grey hair," she retaliated.

"It's silver, not grey!"

"Whatever, ojiisan."

Tsubame was just sitting down at one of the free public tables when the building less than a hundred metres away from them exploded. Everyone collectively paused in their actions for a second, the situation sinking in, and then the screaming began. Tsubame leapt out of her seat, watching in shock as something emerged from the towering plume of smoke. It was a body, plummeting towards them as though kicked. Tsuna grunted as he boy fell right on top of him, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Tsubame rushed towards them as the shooting star of a boy pulled himself off of Tsuna with a panicked apology. He froze and stared at Tsuna's face, but before she could knock him off her friend, someone else emerged from the damaged building.

His hair was longer than anyone's she'd ever seen before, including hers before she had cut it. It had the same colour as Gokudera's, albeit whiter, and wore a black uniform that someone managed to look sleek despite the cloud of debris clearing around him.

"Voi!" he screamed. "You interlopers better stay out of this!" He swung his sword wildly, drawing figure-eight patterns in the air. It shouldn't have done anything but disturb the dust, but this man—this swordsman—was far from ordinary. He managed to slice the everything in front of him, including the face of the building he was standing on as well as the street below him. Fortunately, there was no one left to be sliced into pieces by his deadly sword, having all fled the minute the strange duo appeared.

"My apologies, Sawada-dono," said the other half of the duo. His olive-coloured hair brushed his shoulders as he looked over at Tsuna, one of his blue eyes swollen from the bruise around it.

"Your forehead," gasped Tsuna. "It's a Dying Will Flame."

He nodded, not surprised in the least to learn about the fire blooming from his noggin. "My name is Basil, and right now, I need thou to come with me."

Before he could even take a single step, the swordsman jumped straight down from the building, the ground beneath him exploding into a small crater as he landed forcefully. Tsubame jumped back, well out of slicing rage, as he slowly stood.

"Let's end this game of tag," he growled, the promise of violence in his voice sending shivers down her spine.

"So?" he said, when no one responded. "Who're these guys?"

Basil swallowed. "No one," he lied – and poorly, at that.

"Lies!" The long-haired man brought his sword down against Basil, knocking away the puny defence attempted through his metal weapon and cutting right through his clothes and into his skin. The sheer force of the attack sent Basil flying into a building, its glass front breaking his fall.

The swordsman turned to Tsuna. "Who are you?" he demanded. From this close, Tsubame could see that his sword was literally attached to his arm, like an extremely deadly prosthetic. "If you don't spit it out, I'll slice you into two."

A quiet fizzling filled the air, and when Tsubame glanced down, she saw several sticks of dynamite rolling to a stop in front of the swordsman's feet. He jumped into the air the same time Tsubame grabbed Tsuna's arm and pulled him away, mere seconds before the bombs went off with enough power to level a small house.

"Lay a hand on that person and I'll blow you to bits," declared Gokudera, a cigarette hanging between his lips as he withdrew more TNT from his person.

Yamamoto nodded from beside him. "Something like that," he said, and despite his light words, both his tone and eyes were as sharp and deadly as the sword in his hand.

When the swordsman let out a small laugh, Tsubame knew they were well out of their league. "If you go against me, you'll die," he informed them, lips curled into a snarl.

And he was right. He and Yamamoto were up first, their weapons calling out to each other. They crossed blades, but Yamamoto crumbled easily beneath the weight and power of his opponent's swordsmanship. As if to add insult to injury, the swordsman didn't even bother using his blade to cut Yamamoto down; a simple backhand did the trick. She could hear the crack of Yamamoto's skull against gravel from the all the way over here.

Seeing Yamamoto dismissed like that unleased a fire inside Gokudera. "You!" he spat fiercely, thrusting a handful of bombs at the assassin.

"Too slow," he jeered, neatly cutting the wicker tips of the dynamite off and punching Gokudera into the ground in one smooth motion.

Tsubame cursed, realising they were out of options. All she had on her were the second pair of knives her parents had sent over for her birthday, and what good were they against a sword? But Basil was still down, Tsuna was frozen with fear, and Reborn was nowhere to be seen. It was up to her now.

 _Where's Lambo and his bazooka now when you need it?_ she grumbled internally, although well aware that Reborn had evacuated the others long ago.

"Hey," she said, and she was proud to note that not only did her voice remain steady, it was as strong and cool as an autumn breeze. "Before you cut us down, tell us your name."

The swordsman stalked towards her like a predator to its prey, his teeth bared into something that couldn't be called a grin. "A brave one, aren't you?" he said mockingly. "Either that, or very stupid."

"Let's go with both. Again, who are you?"

"I," he began, straightening to his full height, "am Superbi Squalo. Remember this, girl, because soon I'll be on top of the world."

He gave her no time to decipher the meaning behind his words. Tsubame prepared himself for his strike, saw him cover the distance between them with a single leap, and crossed her daggers in front of her. She caught his sword, and a moment of triumph soared within her before he pushed through the block and slammed the hilt of his weapon right into her head, knocking her unconscious. In the several seconds it took for her to black out completely, Tsubame felt nothing but shame course through her.

* * *

"Superbi Squalo, an elite assassin that makes Rokudo Mukuro look like an absolute rookie," Reborn said the moment they were all seated. "He's part of a team of hitmen called the Varia, which works independently alongside the Vongola. They've always stuck to the shadows, until one day, they decided to become the next heads of the Family. That's what those rings are for," he added, gesturing the jewellery decorating their person.

Tsuna's bed creaked beneath Tsubame as she dug her own ring from her pocket. It was thin and silver with half a shield displaying a squiggle. She had no way of knowing what the complete crest looked like until she stole the other half of the ring, as hers was cut horizontally into two.

She, Gokudera and Yamamoto had received a note via messenger pigeon requesting their presence for a meeting at Tsuna's. When they got there, Reborn had tossed the half-rings at them before diving straight into his explanation of the situation. He was currently standing on top of Tsuna's low study table, facing the boys grimly.

Tsuna clutched a trembling hand around the ring threaded onto a chain around his neck. "You said this was proof of my legitimacy as the Tenth boss of Vongola, right?" he asked Reborn. "Then let's just give it to those- the Varia. That way they'll stop hunting us down, and we can go back to our everyday lives. Win-win, right?"

"Tsuna." Reborn's voice was as harsh and blunt as a sledgehammer. "You saw the way Squalo acted in the town centre yesterday. Do you really want to entrust the fate of the Vongola—of the mafia—in the hands on a vigilante group who act that carelessly in public?"

Tsuna lowered his eyes to the tabletop, properly chastised. "What do we do, then?" he said quietly.

"The answer's obvious," responded Gokudera. He leaned back on his hands, a glint in his eye as he clutched his half-ring in his hand. "We fight them."

"Like we did yesterday?" scoffed Tsubame.

Yamamoto ran his fingers over his bruised cheek, a present from Squalo. "That guy was strong," he acknowledged. "But that just means we have to get stronger."

Reborn nodded his approval even as Tsuna slammed a hand against the table in a rare display of anger. "Stop!" he yelled, eyes closed tightly as if afraid a single glance at them would crumble his willpower completely. "I'm so sick of this mafia business, and I'm sick of you guys always getting hurt for me."

"Tenth…" Gokudera murmured consolingly.

"What do you suggest we do, Tsuna?" Yamamoto asked softly.

Tsuna deflated, the frustration seeping out of his body as defeat took its place. "I don't know," he admitted, eyes on his lap.

Tsubame turned to Reborn. "Are there no other candidates besides Tsuna?"

Reborn pursed his lips together before answering. "The Ninth had a handful of sons, but they all died. Even if Tsuna rejects the Family, he'll still be a viable option as the boss until he's taken out himself."

 _Do or die, huh?_ Tsubame tossed the ring in the air and caught it, repeating the action as her thoughts settled themselves out. "It makes sense for Tsuna to have a ring – it's tangible proof of his legitimacy as Vongola's boss. But why do we three have our own as well?" she asked, swiping her ring out of the air one last time.

"Not just you three," said Reborn, and their attention on him heightened considerably. "There are eight rings in total. There's the boss's, and then there're the seven others delivered to those worthy of protecting the next boss of the Vongola Family – his guardians."

Yamamoto's eyes widened. "Who are they?"

"That would ruin the surprise, now wouldn't it?" Reborn said with a devilish smirk. "For now, we have the Rain Ring with Yamamoto, the Storm Ring with Gokudera, and the Wind Ring with Tsubame."

Tsuna made a face. "Weather forecasts?" he muttered beneath his breath. "Wait, what's mine?"

"Yours, Tsuna, is of the all-encompassing Sky, as was the first boss of the Vongola Family. His closest followers became his protectors, and were portrayed as the types of weather that colour the sky.

"The cleansing Rain ring, the independent Cloud ring, the evasive Mist ring, the invigorating Sun, the torrential Storm, the vindictive Lightning, and the refreshing Wind – those are the seven Guardian elements."

"It's oddly fitting," sighed Tsuna.

"Wait until you see who your Sun Guardian is," teased Reborn. "Here he comes now."

Heavy footsteps were their only warning before the door to Tsuna's bedroom was thrown open. Ryohei barged inside, but he saw straight past them as he looked to Reborn. "Master Paopao!" he cried gleefully. "Is it true you're here to train me?"

 _Who the hell is—?_ Tsubame's curiosity fell as she returned her attention to Reborn, who had somehow changed out of his suit and into a get-up befitting of a boxer, with the addition of a suspiciously green elephant hat serving as his headgear.

Gokudera gasped. "Where'd Reborn-san go?" He was not, in fact, being sarcastic. Tsubame suddenly feared for Vongola's future.

"Oniisan!" cried Tsuna. "Do you know what you're getting into?"

To their surprise, Ryohei nodded firmly. "The Italian dude from before came over and explained things. Called himself a horse or something? Anyway," he said brightly, "leave everything to me, Sawada! I'll beat those freaks into a pulp for startling Kyoko yesterday!" He punched the air several times as if to emphasise his point, the ring on his left hand gleaming in the morning sun.

Gokudera's pride at becoming an official protector of Vongola's future boss soured as he glared at Ryohei. "Seriously? This guy's a guardian as well? Guess we were short on Sun Flame users," he grumbled.

Reborn touched his boxing gloves together, drawing their focus back to him. "The Varia will be back in ten days' time to fight for the right to lead the Vongola. In order to whip you lot into shape, I've assigned tutors to each of you."

"Will you be tutoring me, Master Paopao?" Ryohei asked eagerly.

Reborn shook his head. "I only have time to teach Tsuna. The rest of you will find your own tutors waiting for you back at your places."

Tsubame shared a look with Gokudera and, without saying a single word, bolted.

* * *

A bug buzzed by her ear as she tried to unlock her door, and Tsubame swiped it away irritably. By the time she opened it, Gokudera had read the note taped to his front door, ripped it off and stalked in search of what she guessed was his tutor.

Tsubame scanned her flat as she removed her shoes and exchanged it for slippers. There was no one there. More than a little spooked, she crept through her living room, eyes peeled. It was only when she turned around to double-check the area that she noticed a small figure standing right in front of her door.

"Hello," he said with a perfunctory bow, as did the little monkey on his head. "My name is Fon. I believe you're in need of a tutor?"

"I… Yes." Tsubame twitched as a million thoughts passed through her head in under a second. "Would you like anything to drink? Tea, water…?"

Fon smiled politely. "I'm fine, thank you. May I come in?"

"Of course," she mumbled, because he was technically inside anyway. Despite Fon's refusal, Tsubame went to the kitchen and put the kettle on anyway, if only to stall momentarily.

"How'd you get in in the first place?" she asked over her shoulder as she reached for her container of tea from the cupboard.

"I slipped in while you were entering," he said, not a trace of shame to be found in his mellow voice.

Tsubame sighed. "As expected of a friend of Reborn's," she grumbled to herself.

Once her jasmine was prepared, she walked over to the dining table where Fon was patiently waiting for her. As she sat down, she thanked Gokudera for being such a clean freak; the apartment was spotless.

"I'm Kishino Tsubame," she said, placing her hands neatly in her lap. "And I'd be immensely grateful if you choose to train me."

Although Fon's hands were well hidden within the long sleeves of his red traditional robe, he pressed them together as praying or posing. "I've been observing you for a while now, Tsubame-san, and while you show potential, I'm not fully convinced I should take you under my wing. What makes you think you are worthy?"

Tsubame's hands tightened into fists underneath the table. "How long have you been watching me?"

Fon didn't even blink. "Since you first came to my stall and rendered that girl unconscious with a single punch."

"You're…the violet vendor?" Her eyes widened as she looked at him in a new light. "Oh my god."

On the bright side, her embarrassing reaction managed to make Fon smile. "Indeed. I-Pin was once my pupil for just under a year, and you've seen how powerful she is despite her age. How can you convince me to take you under my wing next?"

Instead of quavering beneath Fon's steady stare, Tsubame met the challenge straight-on. "I doubt anything I can say can change what opinion you've already formed of me based on what you've seen. But you're my best hope of surviving the next two weeks with all my limbs intact, and…" She paused, biting her lip as she thought of the concern in the faces of her friends after she'd returned from Kokuyo, her body whole but her mind less so. "And I want to be strong enough to protect my friends, both psychologically and physically."

Would Fon understand what she was getting at? Or would he be confused by her ambiguous answer?

He eyed her for one painful moment before bestowing her with a smile. "Very well. Your resolve burns brightly and strongly. Tell me," he said, "what do you know of Dying Will Flames?"


	24. Of Observations and Opponents

XXIV

 _Of Observations and Opponents_

Despite what his son and sometimes even his wife thought, Iemitsu missed home a great deal. It was always on his mind at some point, and to finally return after two years of business was more invigorating than any of Basil's Dying Will pills.

After grabbing a quick dinner with his beloved Nana, Iemitsu retreated to their room under the guise of hitting the hay early. His wife didn't question him, as she was wont to do when it came to his affairs, and let him be while she cleaned up. Privately, Iemitsu knew Nana was honestly too good for someone like him. It was a wonder she still loved him after all this time.

He sighed. If only Tsuna had half the love for him his mother did. It was understandable, of course, but it still stung. Iemitsu consoled himself with the fact that, once Tsuna finally became the boss, he would accept that some things in the world were unavoidable.

 _If we live long enough for that day to come,_ he thought grimly, leaning against the headboard of his and Nana's queen-sized bed. The side she slept on was dented, well-worn after years of sleep, while his seemed untouched completely.

He wasn't lying when he told Nana he was beat. There was something about Namimori that peeled away his stress and tension, making him more tired than usual – it was like all his fatigue was catching up on him. As Iemitsu settled into bed, he reflected on all the trips he had made today.

Of the eight ring bearers, half of them ended up training in the same place. Tsuna, his Storm Guardian and his Wind were making use of the mountains located north of Namimori, a twenty-minute walk away from the central business district.

Reborn was trying to mould Tsuna into the next Primo by having him learn one of his legendary techniques, and had recently enlisted the help of Basil despite the boy's recent wounds. But Iemitsu had trained Basil himself, so he was confident in his abilities, even if he was up against his son, the natural.

Not half a kilometre away, Gokudera Hayato and Shamal were training. Upon learning that Shamal had been the one to introduce Gokudera's iconic weapons to him in the first place, Tsuna had almost fainted out of shock. How the boy had missed the obvious was lost on Iemitsu – they had the same haircut, not to mention Gokudera was unusually disdainful towards the witch doctor. It took a little intervention on his part, but eventually Gokudera learnt how to value himself as a person, allowing Shamal to finally teach him further.

Fon and Kishino Tsubame were never in one place for too long, as the former had the latter constantly on the move. She was either running or cartwheeling or leaping from tree to tree after climbing up and down them. The sight almost reminded him of the circus monkeys he had once taken Tsuna to see way back when. Tsuna probably wouldn't remember, having probably repressed the memory of the monkey stealing his apple slices as it darted around the tent. He had cried long and hard that night.

Colonello and Sasagawa Ryohei were higher up in the mountains. Tsuna's Sun Guardian was certainly impressive, as he practically radiated raw power and strength. It was something he had clearly worked hard and long to achieve, as Iemitsu could see the pain dancing across his muscles even from his spot behind the foliage. Proper rest was a key component of training, so Iemitsu fully approved of Colonello's decision to have Ryohei nap for the first half of the day. Afterwards, he had surprised them all by shooting Ryohei with a bullet infused with his own powers, allowing the boxer to topple boulders with a single punch. Reborn had chosen well.

Things weren't any easier back in town. It was obvious to any assassin worth their salt that Yamamoto Takeshi lacked any actual resolve to back up his strikes. His father, a legend in his own right, had adopted the difficult task of whittling away Yamamoto's rose-coloured view of the world in order to instil the instinct of a killer into him. From the shadows of their dojo, Iemitsu had dipped his head in respect towards him.

And then there was Hibari Kyoya. He and the Cavallone boss had spent the entire day dishing it out on the roof of Nami Middle's building. Hibari was type to speak through his fists than with his words, and Dino was literally trying to beat his message into Tsuna's Cloud Guardian. Personally, Iemitsu reckoned Fon should've been the one teaching Hibari, but he the logical part of his mind knew the history between them would prevent any progress from happening.

As for the Mist and Lightning Guardians? It was a gamble, the risks he and Reborn were taking, but they could only sit back and wait things out.

Things were developing smoothly, that much was clear. There were some hiccups along the road, but eventually all the tutors had been paired up with their disciples. Some got along much better than others, but at least none of them were under threat of dropping dead the second they stood up against the Varia.

* * *

Wincing, Tsubame punched her shoulder in hopes of ridding it of the pain gnawing at her. Even with the weird medicinal herbs and drinks Fon made her drink every day after training, the soreness remained, dull but not piercing. When she'd first learnt that they only had ten days to train, she was overwhelmed by how little time they had. Now that she was actually in the midst of it, she realised that ten days was actually pretty damn long considering they did nothing _but_ train. If the Varia didn't end up killing them, Hibari would for missing more than a week of school.

She breathed in deeply, relishing the night air as she made her way back home. The sun had set not too long ago, and while Tsubame normally would've been on her guard, she knew Fon was surveying her from a distance. In addition to increasing her physical prowess, he'd also taught her how to sharpen her senses, spotting presences and gauging their auras. And right now, there was a distinctly malicious one racing towards the west, the residential area.

Despite her protesting muscles, Tsubame dashed towards it. There was more than one, and she pushed herself before it was too late. Loud voices reached her as she rounded the corner, her weapons at the ready. She was forced to skid to a stop and lower them when she realised it was only Fuuta, I-Pin and Lambo walking down the road, not a bloodthirsty group of assassins.

"Tsubame-nee!" cried Fuuta as he ran towards her, clearly relieved. "Thank goodness you're here! We were separated from Kyoko-nee and Haru-nee, and got lost."

"Tsubame!" yelled Lambo, looking demanding despite the apparent worry on his face. "Lambo-san's tired. I want a piggyback!"

"Not now, Lambo," she told him, voice low. "There's someone else here."

The levity of her behaviour had the kids tensing warily. Fuuta and Lambo clung onto her while she and I-Pin got ready. There was a faint, almost inaudible click to her left, and Tsubame whirled around. A man clad in a sleek, black uniform similar to Squalo's slowly rose from his crouch on the rooftop, a sabre drawn.

 _Mid to long range fighter,_ Tsubame noted tersely. _I-Pin's martial arts will be useless._ She glanced at the black face mask covering both his nose and mouth. _Her Gyoza Kempo won't work, either._

Tsubame opened up one of the traditional handheld fans Fon had bestowed onto her and waved it lazily in front of her face, the other resting loosely by her side. "Who are you?" she asked, taking a step closer towards him, but his far enough so his blade wouldn't touch her. "What do you want with a bunch of children?"

He said nothing for a moment as he scrutinised her in an attempt to weigh how much of a threat she posed. What he found mustn't have been very impressive, because he didn't even move to strike. "My business isn't with you," he said instead. "Only the boy in the cow-print. Leave, and I won't lay a finger on you."

Tsubame considered it even as Lambo let out a frightened squeal from behind her. If he was telling the truth, then it was a pretty good deal – their lives for Lambo's, a brat who did nothing but cause trouble for them? The decision was easy.

"Alright," she said, stepping to the side.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Drop your weapons."

She made a show of shrugging and let the one by her side fall to the ground with a clatter. His gaze was still on her as she lowered the other fan, but instead of letting it slide out of her grip like the first one, Tsubame brought it back up in a fierce swipe that released several blades at the assassin.

He managed to knock most of them out of the air with his thin blade, but two hit their mark – one in his stomach, the other in shoulder. By the time he fought through the pain and rallied himself, Tsubame was right next to him. She snapped her fan shut and struck his head with the blunt side of the fan's iron guard, knocking him out.

He had just slumped to the ground when two more presences began to close in on them from both sides. "Run!" she barked to the kids. She followed her own advice, barely pausing to scoop up her fallen fan as she raced behind them.

Lambo and I-Pin, although strong for their age, were encumbered by their physical limitations, and lagged behind due to their short and stubby legs. Fuuta picked both up and tucked them into his sides as he ran, but the weight was too much for the eight-year-old, and he fell, sending the five-year-olds sprawling.

"Shit," muttered Tsubame as she stopped, waiting for the kids to collect themselves. The presences were drawing closer, now visible as their shiny clothing flashed in the darkness, and she prepared herself again.

Before she could even raise a single fan, though, both agents were thrown out of the sky from two different directions. One was blown away by an explosive that could only belong to Gokudera, while the other looked like he was shot down by a bullet, or a beam. They dropped down to the ground, their screams of pain cut short as they hit the pavement with a sickening crack.

"Geez," groaned Gokudera as he climbed out of the shrubbery. "Why does the stupid cow have a ring too?"

Lambo sniffled as fat drops of tears welled up in his eyes. "Stupidera!" he wailed, rushing up to his saviour and clinging to his pant leg. Sobbing furiously, he wiped his leaky face onto Gokudera's dusty jeans.

"Gah! Get off, you stupid cow!" Gokudera fruitlessly shook his leg, but it wouldn't dislodge either Lambo or his boogers.

"Everyone all right?" Ryohei asked as he drew closer. His left fist was steaming like a freshly-fired pistol.

 _Was that the source of the beam we saw…?_

I-Pin chirped out what Tsubame could only assume was an affirmation in response to Ryohei's question.

Yamamoto arrived next, a bamboo sword—of all things—in his hand. "Sorry for being late," he said with a smile. "Guess the party's already over, huh?"

"Everyone!" gasped Tsuna, racing up to them. "You're all here! How'd you know?"

"Yo, Tsuna," greeted Yamamoto. "A blonde dude in orange overalls told me to head over here."

"Same," chimed in Ryohei.

Gokudera nodded. "It was the same man from the mountains, Tenth."

Tsuna looked at them in shock. "You mean my dad?"

Tsubame's brow knit together in bemusement. "Your dad has some weird hobbies, Tsuna."

Tsuna could only sigh at that. "Still," he said, glancing at the fallen bodies, "you guys handled that pretty easily."

"It was no sweat, Sawada!" assured Ryohei. "Victory will be ours in no time!"

Reborn clicked his tongue at their naiveté. "These guys were just grunts. The truly scary ones are— They're coming."

Reborn had just finished speaking an enormous figure burst out of the treetops and landed on crest of the hill overlooking them. He was bigger than all of them, even Yamamoto, and Tsubame bet there was nothing but hard muscle beneath the uniform he was wearing. Two silver strips criss-crossed across his chest in an X, connected by a ring of metal in the middle that had Tsubame thinking, _Bondage gear?_ But no, it was part of the contraption on his back that held what she thought were swords, judging by their handles.

"I can't believe it," he scoffed in a deep, grumbly voice that suited his harsh features. "You snot-nosed brats actually took down my Lightning Strike Squad."

Tsubame had to physically clamp her lips together to keep from reacting to the terribly tacky name. Of course he was the Lightning Guardian – how could he not be, when his sideburns were basically giant lightning bolts stretching out to his cheeks?

"To make matters worse," he continued, fortunately too focused on Lambo to notice Tsubame's steadily growing smirk, "my opponent for the Lightning ring is the most snot-nosed of them all."

Lambo gave an especially wet sniffle as the Varia assassin stared him down.

"Aren't you a bit old to be bullying little kids?" Tsubame asked coldly.

The heavyset man snorted. "Age, gender, accountability – none of those things matter to Varia. If you get in our way, you're dead."

"Hold it, Levi!"

Four other figures jumped out like the man named Levi had. They stood around him, forming an impressive sight with their malicious expressions and matching uniforms.

 _No, not four,_ Tsubame thought as a man with an oppressive air about him pushed the others out of the way to stand in front. _Five._

"Now there's someone I'd never thought I'd see again," murmured Reborn. "Xanxus…"

The leader of the Varia and thus Tsuna's opposition for the Sky Ring. He was shorter and slighter than Levi, but what he lacked physically he made up through his sheer aura alone. His red eyes zeroed in on Tsuna, making his legs shake uncontrollably.

"Sawada Tsunayoshi," he growled. He brought a hand up and, to Tsubame's disbelief, it began to _glow._ It was like a cannon charging, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

The other members of the Varia protested loudly as they scrambled out of the way, and Tsubame had a feeling his burst of power wouldn't be as narrowed and controlled as Ryohei's had been.

"Die!" roared Xanxus, pitching his hand back—

—only to be interrupted by a pickaxe spiralling his way. One end of the blade sunk into the ground right where Xanxus's foot had been. The person responsible was none other than Tsuna's dad, backed up by Basil and a man in a suit.

"Damned outside advisor," hissed Squalo. "Done running, are you?"

"I never ran," Iemitsu said calmly. "Your recent activity concerns me, so I've messaged the Ninth. I've only received his message just now."

"I don't get it," murmured Tsuna. "What's an outside advisor? Why is Dad so involved with the Vongola?"

"He's a part of the Vongola as much as he isn't," said Reborn in that usual roundabout way of his. "He's the second in charge after the boss, and has the power to decide who succeeds the Family. The Ninth has given half the rings to the Varia, while Iemitsu gave the other half to you and your friends, Tsuna." He clenched his tiny hands into fists. "For the advisor and the boss to be split on the Family's successors… It's never happened before."

Basil leapt down from the hilltop and landed in front of Tsuna without faltering. "For you, Sawada-dono," he said, presenting him with one of the two scrolls Iemitsu had been holding. The other had gone to Xanxus, and as soon they unrolled it, an orange Dying Will Flame appeared at the top of the note.

"It's the Ninth's," declared the hooded being next to Xanxus. He was just like Reborn, and Fon. The top half of his face was hidden, revealing only a purple upside down triangle marking his right cheek. Tsubame scanned him for a pacifier, but if it was there, it was hidden beneath his cloak.

Tsuna grimaced at the parchment in his hands. "It's in Italian; I can't read it."

Iemitsu chuckled once before translating. "It says that, while the Ninth once believed you were suited as the heir, Tsuna, he's now considering instating his son Xanxus as the Tenth boss instead."

Tsuna and his Guardians blanched as one. _Xanxus_ was the Ninth's son? Shouldn't he have been considered as a worthy candidate in the first place? Why the change in mind?

On a whim, Tsubame glanced at Reborn. His lips were pursed tightly together, and she automatically knew something was afoot.

"However," continued Iemitsu, "some in the Family will not approve in the change. In order to keep the Vongola from splitting into and starting a senseless civil war, we will settle things through a traditional Vongola battle."

That wasn't good. Whenever _traditional_ and _Vongola_ were paired up like that, only pain and suffering followed.

Iemitsu peered down at them gravely. "In other words, those who share the same ring will fight it out, one-on-one, to determine who will the rightful holder once and for all."

Tsubame placed her head in her hands. She hated it when she was right.


	25. Of the Wind and the Mist

**A.N:** Only 2 reviews for the prev chap? Ouch, you guys. :'(

* * *

XXV

 _Of the Wind and the Mist_

"Do you think fire is alive, Tsubame-san?" Fon once asked her as they took a break for training. It was day two of ten, and he had instructed her to build a fire using some of the resources available in the woods nearby. It had taken half an hour, but she finally got it going.

"No?" she said uncertainly. "I mean, it doesn't have a mind of its own or anything…"

"Neither do plants," countered Fon, "but people still consider it a living thing, do they not?"

"I guess."

"Fire… It's almost uncontrollable. What starts off as a small flame can escalate into a wild blaze within moments. Do you know why?"

Tsubame took a moment to stare at their campfire, listening to it crackle and snap as it ate up the sticks fuelling it. "It gets stronger the more it consumes," she murmured.

"Consumes what?"

She shrugged. "Wood, sticks, anything burnable, really."

Fon closed his eyes and assumed a meditative stance from his position across her. "In the end, what made your fire come to life? Was it just the materials you gathered from the copse of trees over there?"

Well, that was all she thought she needed to do, but then Fon had given her a hint. "You told me to blow on it," she said, "when that little stream of smoke came out. So it needs air to thrive as well."

"As all living things do," Fon concluded with a small smile. "Did you bring the plastic fan like I asked?"

Nodding, Tsubame dragged her backpack over. In it were a bunch of nutritional snacks to restore her energy and promote the healing and development of her muscles, several bottles of water and a change of clothes. She slid her hand into the back pocket, where the promotional fan Fon had given to her long ago was being kept, and handed it over to him.

It was kind of awkward giving Fon something that was taller than him, but she knew that, while he had the body of a child, his strength was that of a fully grown man's – just like Reborn. _Arcobaleno_ , Mukuro had called them. Gokudera explained as much as he could about the Extraordinary Eight, but even his knowledge was limited.

"While air can certainly fuel a flame," began Fon, fanning the fire twice and watching it grow, "it can also extinguish it just as easily." He wrapped both hands around the plastic handle and jumped high, spinning as he landed. The wind from the fan overwhelmed the fire to the point that it flickered out, leaving nothing but charred wood behind.

"Wind Flames are perhaps the most crucial of the eight. They affect almost all of the other elements, and so are useful for strengthening other fighters."

Tsubame frowned. "So basically, I'm a support type?"

"You could be, yes," acknowledged Fon. "And in some cases, that is all Wind Flame users are. But what most people don't realise is that the Wind can be so much more. The Sun Flame is the only one that can heal people instead of harm, and some of the best fighters I know are Sun-based."

There was something about the way Fon delivered his speech that made Tsubame wonder. "Shishou, are you a Wind type too?" It was doubtful, since his pacifier was red, the colour symbolic of the Storm, but…

"Close," he said, bowing his head. "I'm predominantly Storm, but my secondary is Wind. The two often go hand-in-hand, which is another reason why the Wind is so dismissed in our world. Even Primo's Wind Guardian wasn't taken seriously until her time was almost up."

Tsubame reacted visibly at that. "Her? The Guardian was a woman?"

Amusement danced in Fon's eyes. "So shocked despite your very situation?"

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Didn't the first generation of the Vongola exist, like, a hundred years ago? I'd imagine it'd be hard for a woman to be taken seriously then, especially as a Mafioso."

"It was. It was also a major factor as to why the general public refused to believe she was a proper Guardian – well, that and the fact that no one else possessed Wind Flames at that time."

"Really?" Tsubame glanced at her hand, as if she could conjure up her own Flames at a moment's notice. "Are they that rare?"

Fon nodded. "Pure Wind Flames are the second rarest after Sky Flames. I'm aware of less than thirty users in the world including you, Tsubame-san. I wouldn't be surprised if the Varia themselves were bereft of a Wind Guardian. Especially since…"

When Fon didn't pick up from where he left off again, Tsubame prompted him with a, "Especially since?"

But he simply gave her that secretive smile of his. "It is not my secret to tell. Now," he added, clearly changing the subject, "have you ever heard of a _tessen_ before?"

* * *

Fon had been right, in the end.

Tsubame felt scammed, even as the Cervello handed her the other half of the Wind Ring before Ryohei's match against Lussuria. She had won by proxy, because apparently the Varia were too good for a Wind Guardian.

"What do we need a Wind Guardian for?" Leviathan had jeered when she expressed her discontent over the easy victory. "All you Wind Flame users are only good for support. We, the Varia, are strong enough individually that we don't require any back-up whatsoever."

Reborn gazed at the other Arcobaleno in the vicinity levelly. "Are you sure that's the only reason, Viper? Or is it Mammon now?"

The cursed being with the Mist pacifier curled his lip in response. "A fine will be incurred each time you use that name," he informed him.

"Isn't that great, Tsubame?" Tsuna asked, trying to sound upbeat. But everyone could hear the undertone of worry in his voice. "This way, you don't have to fight."

She pursed her lips even as she twisted her now-complete Ring around her finger. "It doesn't seem right," she said. "It's not fair for everyone to have to fight for their prize except for me."

"Don't count your eggs just yet," warned Reborn. "It's common for the showdown between the Sky Ring holders to involve the entirety of the Family, not just the boss. We have no clue what the Varia has planned."

If it was anything like Lussuria's match with Ryohei, then it'd be completely underhanded. The moment the Cervello had announced the commencement of their battle, the LEDs built into the ceiling of the boxing ring they were in were turned on, flooding the area with enough light to power all of Namimori for several days straight. Everyone had to don sunglasses in order to see, including the combatants themselves. It was no problem for Lussuria, who was never bereft of his red-rimmed pair, but Ryohei was forced to squeeze his eyes shut to keep his corneas from being burnt then and there.

Despite the enormous set-back, Ryohei had triumphed in the end. Unfortunately, their good luck didn't hold for long.

Lambo had fallen to Leviathan, and he would've been murdered outright if Tsuna hadn't slipped into Hyper Dying Will mode and intervened. By doing so, he had forfeited his own Ring. Whatever progress Ryohei had made was upended in the span of ten minutes.

Worse still, Lambo still had yet to wake from his coma. It was a harsh wake-up call for them all. They'd never had such close brushes with death before, not even when they had marched straight into the trap known as Kokuyo. Whatever delusions they had about an unscathed victory had promptly fled their minds as they returned to training with renewed vigour.

Everyone except her, that was. After declaring he could teach her no more for the time being, Fon had left town to attend to some business of his. Tsubame's life fell into a new routine: wake up, go to school by herself, drop by the hospital afterwards, and then head home.

Her visits to the hospital grew prolonged as each day saw a new casualty. Gokudera's condition hadn't been as severe as Lambo's, but he definitely had more than a few shallow cuts, as he was so insistent on claiming. Watching his battle had been the worst so far for Tsubame, if only because the arena practically _screamed_ 'Wind Guardian oriented'. The air vents that shot out bursts of her own literal element was like the cherry on top of the sundae dumped carelessly onto her.

"That's a little melodramatic," muttered Tsuna.

Tsubame glowered.

Since the boys were otherwise preoccupied with their battles, Tsubame spent her breaks at school with Kyoko and Hana. But even they were more subdued than usual, affected by the tension in the air that had existed ever since the day Squalo had terrorised the town square two weeks back.

Kyoko poked at her lunch with her chopsticks. "Are you going to see Lambo-kun this afternoon as well, Tsubame-chan?"

Tsubame nodded. "Yamamoto, too."

Her grip on her utensils tightened almost audibly. "Him too?" she gasped, horrified eyes imploring Tsubame for an explanation.

Hana slammed her hands down on the desk they were sharing, startling the other students who had chosen to stay inside for lunch. "Alright, enough's enough," she snapped, ignoring everyone outside their small bubble. "What on earth's going on, Tsubame? First you quit pilates, then you and the three stooges skip school for two weeks, and now you're all returning half-dead? Sumo competition, my ass. Those monkeys might be fine with lying to us, but we expect better from you."

Normally, Tsubame would've responded with equal fervour by fighting fire with fire. But there was barely even a spark left in her these days. "Not here," she murmured, all too aware of the prying eyes and ears around them. "I'll explain at the hospital."

With all the calm and poise of a lady, Kyoko collected her things and tucked them away into her schoolbag. "Let's go, then," she said, pushing her chair back.

As they made their way to Namimori's central hospital, Tsubame thought furiously about what she should tell them. Kyoko—and Hana, to an extent—had a right to be know what was going on, especially since Haru was already cognizant of anything and everything that occurred in the shadier half of their lives.

Then again, there was a reason the girls had been kept in the dark as long as they had been. Once they understood the slippery slope they were walking on, some part of them would be lost forever – their innocence. And while their lives were far from simple, the weight of what they knew would always drag on them.

They hardly needed to check in with hospital staff; the receptionist knew Tsubame well enough to let her in without fuss. Dino's men lurked around the floor Lambo and Yamamoto were situated on, and they too let her pass. Kyoko and Hana tensed noticeably as they walked past the suited men, something that lingered in her mind longer than necessary.

The ward assigned to Lambo was almost oppressive in its silence. The only sound that pierced the cold room was the beeps of the machines he was hooked up to as well as his quiet, steady breathing. The Bovino Family representative nodded at her in greeting before leaving in respect to their need for privacy.

"What's with all the scary-looking men?" murmured Hana as they sat around Lambo's bed. "They're all wearing fine suits, too. It's almost like…"

"Like they're in the mafia?" concluded Tsubame. She looked away from Lambo's prone form to lock eyes with Kyoko, and then Hana. "That's because they are."

Kyoko breathed out a shaky laugh. "That's funny, Tsubame-chan. Did Reborn-kun get you in on his make-believe as well?"

In her mind's eye, Tsubame could see two paths laid out in front of her. She could accept the scapegoat provided by Kyoko and laugh it all off, citing an accident as the reason why everyone was so injured. But then what? Their scuffle with the Varia wouldn't be the last Mafia-related incident to pop up into their lives, and anyone with basic information gathering skills—which was essentially just asking around with a town as small and open as Namimori—would know that Kyoko was as tangled up in the whole mafia business as anyone else was, being the sister of a Guardian and a friend of the others.

Tsubame reclined into the stiff, uncomfortable plastic chair offered by the hospital. "Due to certain circumstances, Tsuna has found himself one of the only living heirs left to succeed one of the biggest mafia families in the world."

"The Kokuyo incident," Hana said slowly as she the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "Was that a mafia thing too?"

"Pretty much," sighed Tsubame. "And right now, there's this other group of Mafioso who want to succeed the Family. The only way to decide who gets the throne is through a showdown. Hence the wounds," she added, brushing some of Lambo's hair away from his face.

"I…" Kyoko fiddled with the hem of her skirt as she mulled over her words. "I've always suspected something was going on. My brother isn't the best liar in the world, you know, and it's actually kind of insulting that they think I buy their crazy stories all the time," she said with a small chuckle. It was so lifeless compared to her usual tinkling laughter.

"I'm surprised you've never confronted them over it," confessed Tsubame. If she were in Kyoko's place… Well, that was best left unexplored.

Kyoko lifted her shoulders in a miniscule shrug. "My brother's been keeping secrets from me ever since he got in his first fight. I get where he's coming from, since I can be a huge worry wart, and I always give him the chance to be truthful with me."

"Like on Monday," realised Tsubame. "When you came to the school at midnight while Ryohei was in the middle of his fight…"

"He's a good brother," Kyoko said earnestly. "His lies aren't designed to hurt me. He just wants to protect me. I just wish he realises we're not kids anymore; I won't cry every time he gets hurt."

Hana reached over to squeeze Kyoko's hand in a comforting gesture. "You haven't told him this, have you?"

She smiled sadly. "We're not as close as people would think. It'd be an awkward conversation to have."

"So you're not going to let them know that, well, you know?" asked Tsubame.

"Not yet," decided Kyoko. "One day I'll have to, but not now."

Privately, Tsubame hoped that day would escape them for just a while longer.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

Despite the bandaged eye and the multiple lesions decorating his weary body, Yamamoto managed to smile brightly at her. "Yeah. Thanks for visiting, Tsubame."

Tsubame mustered a smile in return, although it was far dimmer than his. "Anyone else visit?" she asked, watching as he slowly pried himself out of his bed. He had changed out of his hospital gown, fortunately, and was wearing loose and comfortable clothing.

"Yep," said Yamamoto, now on his feet. "Dad came this morning and gave me some new clothes. As well as some decent food."

 _Hospital food,_ Tsubame thought with a grimace.

More than one person stopped to stare at Yamamoto as they made their way to his home. Tsubame couldn't blame them, not really – how could a guy as mild-mannered as Yamamoto be involved in a fight that left him temporarily blind in one eye?

"Are you staying over for dinner tonight?" Yamamoto asked, diligently ignoring the whispered comments.

She shook her head. "Every time I do, your dad makes me eat so much I end up getting _super_ bloated," she replied with a heavy sigh.

Yamamoto laughed. "My bad. You shouldn't come in; he'll make you take away some sushi before you even say anything."

Ugh. After working at TakeSushi, Tsubame could honestly say she'd be happy if she never saw a piece of nigiri or sashimi in her life ever again. It was actually one of the main reasons she quit, in addition to her sudden need to train herself through any means possible.

When Tsubame got home, her door was unlocked. Slowly, so as not to create even the slightest of noise, she slid her unused key out of the lock and tucked it back in her bag. She eased open the door with one hand while the other slipped out a fan from underneath her school skirt.

To her relief, her flat looked exactly as she had left it – instead, there were two new additions waiting inside for her.

Tsubame's fan almost fell out of her clammy grip. Her arms felt like lead by her sides as she stood in the doorway, mouth agape. "You," she murmured, her voice faint with alarm. "How…?"

"And where the hell have _you_ been?" demanded Ken, sounding a lot like her mother did whenever her dad returned home from work later than he should've. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

Chikusa was a bit more sympathetic to her plight. "You should sit down," he told her, as if she were the guest and he the host.

Mechanically, Tsubame headed inside, closing the door firmly behind her. She was extremely aware of the two pairs of eyes following her movements as she removed her shoes and stood in front of them. Ken was sprawled all over her couch, still wearing the hideous olive green uniform Kokuyo somehow prided itself in.

 _Well,_ she mused hollowly, _at least his shoes are off._

Chikusa sat on the matching loveseat, his posture slumped as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He avidly averted her gaze.

"First thing's first," announced Ken, pushing himself into a more appropriate position. "Where're my fangs?"

Oh, right. She still had those. "I'll go get them," she mumbled, feeling like she was in a _very_ surreal dream. She'd had plenty of those the first week back from Kokuyo, and not all of them were this pleasant.

Tsubame knelt by her bedside table and unlocked the first drawer. It didn't hold much – just her DC armband and the first plastic fan Fon had given. She took out her old glasses case, rendered almost obsolete ever since she switched to contacts. After opening it to check that all of its contents were there, she went back into the living room and handed the case to Ken.

He opened it so vigorously that the case snapped in two, but Ken didn't care. "Yes!" he crowed, swiping his weapons from the now-broken case. "Finally!"

"So," she said, turning to Chikusa as Ken shoved in cartridge after cartridge in his mouth, "I think it's time for an explanation."

"We escaped," said Chikusa, not the type to beat around the bush. "Mukuro-sama used himself as a diversion, so while the guards chased after him, Ken and I were free to get away."

"Mukuro did?" she said dubiously.

"What's with that attitude, huh?!" exploded Ken. "Mukuro-sama is a good guy, byon!"

"We're talking about the guy who wanted to murder millions through a third world war, right?"

Ken deflated. "He's just misunderstood, that's all."

"He was a loose cannon before," acknowledged Chikusa as he fidgeted with his glasses. "But he's better now. Whatever your boss did to him… It undid years of corruption."

"Corruption?" echoed Tsubame, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "From what?"

"From the same thing that makes him one of the most powerful men alive," said Chikusa. "His eye."

The red one. The one that had been forced into him as a child after months of human experimentation. The one that allegedly allowed him to travel through the six paths of reincarnation itself. She supposed something of that calibre came drawbacks severe enough to unravel one's own mind.

"I still hate him," she said frankly. She probably wouldn't ever forgive him for what he did to Fuuta and Hibari and Bianchi… "But I guess even he deserves a second chance."

"How kind of you."

Tsubame whirled around, fan outstretched at the voice that featured in her nightmares not long ago. Instead of coming face-to-face with Rokudo Mukuro, though, Tsubame was faced with a purple-haired girl in the female equivalent of Kokuyo's uniform.

"Is she being possessed?" Tsubame called over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving the girl.

"Not exactly," Chikusa said uncertainly.

"It's voluntary, I assure you," the girl said with Mukuro's voice. She used the trident in her hands to pry Tsubame's closed fan away from her throat, the gesture making the ring adorning her finger twinkle in the dying light of the evening.

Tsubame stumbled back in shock. "You're Tsuna's Mist Guardian." Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"There was a deal," supplied Chikusa when the girl simply smiled at her. "The Vongola will grant us solace as long as we help your side beat the Varia." Clearly, the deal didn't extend to Mukuro if he was forced to inhabit another's body in order to get anywhere.

"Do me a favour, little Mafioso," drawled Mukuro's voice. "Take care of my minions for me."

"I live in a one-room apartment," was the only thing she could think to say.

"I'm sure you'll figure things out."

Before Tsubame could work up another protest, something in the air shifted. The smug demeanour of the girl vanished, and she glanced at Tsubame almost hesitantly. "Please forgive Mukuro-sama's rudeness," she said, her voice soft but strong.

The bastard was gone. _That's cheating,_ fumed Tsubame. There was no way she could ever one-up him if he could run away without a moment's notice like that.

"Right," Tsubame forced out. "Well, I guess we're roommates now. Kishino Tsubame, by the way."

"Chrome Dokuro."

 _That's even lamer than Rokudo Mukuro._

"We call her Chrome," chipped in Ken, who was already settling in by rifling through her cabinets. _Jerk._

"I'm going to take a shower," Chikusa said, slinking off to her bathroom.

"So you're the Wind Guardian?" Chrome asked, glancing at the complete ring on Tsubame's left hand. "Are you sensitive to illusions?"

"Sensitive?" Tsubame's face screwed up in thought. "I guess."

"Tell me," said Chrome as tucked her trident into the crook of her arm. She held out her hands in front of her, which were suddenly occupied by an item each. "What do you see?"

There was a piece of fruit in each of Chrome's hands – a red apple in the left, and a green in the right. Since she was being tested by a Mist Flame user, Tsubame was inclined to say that _both_ fruit were illusions. However, the knowledge of Mukuro's powers held her back. Hadn't he been able to create real items before? What prevented Chrome from being able to do the same?

Tsubame squinted, focusing all her attention on the apples. Something tickled the back of her mind, and once she was conscious of the feeling, the image of the red apple began to waver like a mirage.

"That one," she said, pointing at Chrome's left hand. "The red one's a fake."

A faint smile materialised on Chrome's face. "Wind Flame users are more inclined to see through illusions than others," she said, placing the sole apple back in the fruit bowl on the dining table. "The stronger and purer the Flames, the better the sight."

Tsubame placed a hand against her forehead as she put two and two together. The Varia prided themselves in their strength and power, so much so that they threatened to murder anyone who dared to fail a mission. She had seen them spray bullets at Lussuria for his loss against Ryohei the first night of the conflict, and remembered the terror frozen onto the man's face as he collapsed, blood pouring out of his body at a rapid rate. He was in a stable condition, the last she heard of him.

The position of the Wind Guardian needed to be Varia quality in order to be accepted, but that meant having someone with Flames powerful enough that they could see straight through illusions. Tsubame recalled the way Reborn had reacted upon hearing the Varia's lack of Wind Guardian, how he immediately turned to their illusionist and asked, "Are you sure that's the only reason, Viper?"

Mammon was hiding something. It was pretty obvious already, what with how almost all of his body was covered up by his hooded cloak. Whatever it was, it was significant enough to risk being a Guardian down in a conflict where they were of the utmost importance.

Tonight was the battle between the Mist representatives. What if, as she was parsing through the illusions, she happened to catch a glimpse of Mammon's true form? He'd probably kill her without a second thought.

Tsubame sighed. It looked like she was going to be absent from the fight tonight.

 _Illusionists suck._


	26. Of Agendas and Abilities

XXVI

 _Of_ _Agendas and Abilities_

The end of the ring conflict was finally drawing near. The tension in the air was almost tangible; sparks flew every time a Guardian glanced at someone from the opposing side. Well, at their fury was just. Whenever Tsubame closed her eyes, she saw the image of the Ninth's worn-out body being carefully extracted from the torturous contraption known as Gola Mosca while Xanxus leered at the scene, his red eyes narrowed with madness.

"Xanxus wants to create a dictatorship," surmised Reborn as the end of what was meant to be the Cloud Guardian battle. His voice was tight with rage, putting everyone on-guard. "Even if he dominated this showdown, the Family still won't accept him after the cradle incident"—and what _was_ that, honestly? The term had been thrown around countless times since the Varia had first shown up, and no explanation was being provided—"but if he frames Tsuna for the Ninth's death? The Vongola will be his without fail."

 _He's insane,_ realised Tsubame, her stomach churning. She swept her eyes over the other members of the Varia. Belphegor and Leviathan regarded the situation apathetically. _They all are._

"Please refrain from such conjectures," intoned one of the two Cervello. "Everything that is said will be recorded into our official archives."

"More like manipulated," scoffed Gokudera.

The Cervello didn't even bother to deny it.

"Do whatever you want," said Reborn, and Tsubame could sense whatever control he had over his temper begin to loosen. "I've already lost my patience with you lot."

Tsuna straightened himself. After swooping in and saving the day, he'd been staring at the melted hunk of junk that used to be Gola Mosca. Reborn's rage must've stirred something within him. Slowly, he turned around, and looked Xanxus right in the eye. "I'll be taking that ring back," he said, almost growled. "You will _never_ succeed the Ninth."

More than one person stared at Tsuna in surprise. Even the Varia were taken aback by the fierce determination he was radiating.

For one, painfully long moment, Tsubame expected them to come to blows right then and there. But the Cervello—ever so assiduous—intervened, postponing the match for the next night. It wound be the final, definitive battle between the Sky ring holders, an end to the chaotic scuffle for the inheritance of the underground powerhouse that was the Vongola Family.

Tsubame's mind was awhirl as she walked home with Gokudera. He despised the Kokuyo Gang, and the feeling was relatively mutual, so they had decided to find their own place to stay, wherever _that_ was. Gokudera could at least tolerate Chrome (even though she had kissed Tsuna on the cheek as a 'greeting' the other night) and so she was the only one who felt comfortable crashing at their place for the time being.

"What happens if we lose tomorrow?" she couldn't help but ask, disturbing the strained silence between them.

"We won't," Gokudera said without a hint of doubt. "There's no way we can lose to scum like them."

Chrome nodded. "Boss will win. Even Mukuro-sama is sure of that."

As usual, Gokudera's lips twisted at the sound of Mukuro's name, but he couldn't deny how valuable an asset their ex-enemy was now, not after the battle last night. Tsubame had heard all about it from Ken and Chikusa when they returned, while Gokudera was practically frothing at the mouth when he learnt that the Kokuyo Gang would be staying at their place, at least temporarily.

Sleep was hard to come by that night. Tsubame was staring at her ceiling when the crack beneath the floor glowed as someone switched on the TV. Curious, she gave up all attempts of getting a good night's rest by walking into the living room. Chrome had risen from her makeshift bed on the couch and was watching a cooking show, of all things.

"Mind if I join you?" Tsubame asked, flicking on the lights.

Chrome smiled slightly. "It's your home," she reminded her, a tinge of amusement colouring her voice.

"Yeah, well…" she mumbled, trailing off as she made herself comfortable on the couch next to Chrome. Curling up on her seat, Tsubame tucked herself in the blanket and watched as the male chef tried to teach them how to make a cheap, easy lasagne that would satisfy the entire family.

"He has an enormous tongue," she pointed out after ten minutes of watching him mispronounce his words slightly.

Chrome's giggle was cut short by a huge yawn. Tsubame switched off the TV and was about to get off the couch when Chrome's hand tugged back at her arm. "Could you stay please?" she asked, a desperate plea shining in her eye. "I can't sleep well by myself."

"Oh," murmured Tsubame. "Sure. I can grab a futon and put it in my room?" The couch didn't look big enough for two, and sleeping while sitting up was just plain unpleasant.

Tsubame surveyed her room while Chrome made use of the bathroom. After quickly weighing the pros and cons, she came to a decision and slid her mattress off the frame and onto the floor. It felt weird, making Chrome sleep on the floor while she rested above her like some sort of ancient monarch.

"This way it's like a sleepover," she informed Chrome when she returned, a puzzled look on her face.

"I've never been to a sleepover before," Chrome confessed quietly as she settled into the futon.

"Well," Tsubame said as she laid down in her own makeshift bed, "as long as you stay here, every night will be like a sleepover. We can even pull pranks on Gokudera to make it feel more authentic."

The only response Tsubame received from Chrome was soft snores. Smiling, she allowed the peaceful sound to wash over her like white noise, and this time, sleep came much more easily.

* * *

Grimacing, Tsubame twisted her ring off of her finger and placed it into the box in the Cervello's hands. All the Guardians were to be involved in the final battle, as the Sky was always responsible for the elements within it. Tsubame predicted as much, thanks to the hints both Reborn and Fon had dropped throughout the conflict.

The Cervello woman accepted the ring without comment and moved onto Hibari. "I lost it," he said, so bluntly and shamelessly that Tsubame had to choke back a laugh.

"We've already seized custody of it," the Cervello informed him coolly.

The pink-haired women circled back to the front. The Cervello on the left only had two rings—the Storm and Lightning—while the one of the right had the other five. Amongst them all, only Xanxus still kept his.

"Now that we have all the Guardians' rings, let us explain the rules of this match," they said in sync.

"The field will be the entire school, which will be monitored through the cameras implemented all over the place. The feed will reach the large screens built into the observation areas as well as these." The Cervello with the blazer held up what looked like a chunky wristwatch. Instead of there being a clock in the centre of the band, though, there was a rectangular screen with an opening beneath it. The hole was shaped like a medieval shield – the Vongola's shield, in fact.

The Cervello in the white blouse and black pants handed a device to each of the Guardians, who were insutrcuted to put it on. Those who were incapable of doing so—Lussuria, who was strapped into his vertical gurney and Ryohei, who only had one working arm—were assisted by the Cervello themselves.

"Once you've been equipped with the wristbands, will each Guardian please move to the field you fought in."

One of them turned to Tsubame. "Wind Guardian," she said tonelessly, "your field for tonight will be by the pool."

 _Oh, good,_ she thought faintly as she turned to the proper direction. _I love large bodies of water._

"Wait, Tsubame!" called out Ryohei. "We need to do our cheer circle first!"

"Even now?!" cried Tsuna.

" _Especially_ now."

"As much as I hate to say it, the turf top's right," said Gokudera. "We need to get our spirits up, Tenth."

Tsubame made a show of sighing and dragging her feet towards them, but secretly, she was relieved by their almost easygoing attitude. It was oddly reassuring, if embarrassing. She tried to ignore the fact that Hibari was _right_ over there, no doubt looking down his nose at them.

Ryohei remembered him, too. "You guys can stay there," he told Chrome and Hibari, although they showed no sign of moving towards them in the first place. "We've switched to the ten-metre rule."

Tsuna blinked owlishly. "Ten-metre rule?"

"Anyone within ten metres is included in the circle," Ryohei informed them with a grin.

Out of the corner of her eye, Tsubame noticed Hibari's frown deepen, and she was willing to bet he was deciding whether or not to bring himself down to their level and put some distance between them, both acknowledging their made-up rule but also weaselling out of it.

Gokudera groaned. "That's so dumb."

"Let's do this!" roared Ryohei, ignoring him.

Like all the other times, they fell into a circle and placed their arms on the shoulders of those beside them. For some reason, Basil liked to join in as well.

"Sawada!" began Ryohei.

"Fight!" they bellowed. (She muttered.)

They dispersed after that, but not without a parting message to Tsuna, either to wish him luck or promise to see him soon. Hibari simply stalked off, annoyed by their crowding and perhaps even feeling humiliated by his indirect inclusion in their cheer circle.

Tsubame occupied herself by smoothing out her clothes as she walked. While everyone wore the same thing they always did, she had changed it up by wearing a kimono – sort of. Instead of reaching her ankles like the traditional robes did, hers ended at the hip like most tops did. It was a blue so dark it was almost black, although it lightened slightly starting from the navy obi around her waist, giving off the impression of the night sky. There were even tiny white stars printed into the upper half of the top.

Supple black shorts covered the lower half of her body, made of a material so malleable that it could keep wayward weapons like thrown blades from finding purchase, instead forcing them to graze right past her.

Both were gifts from Fon, who had broken into her house (again) sometime when she was out and left a sizeable gift box on her kitchen table. A note with his signature was placed on top, which dismissed her paranoia as soon as she saw it.

 _A good-luck present for tonight,_ it read. _Lichi and I will be cheering you on._

The sign-off included the onyomi for wind as well as a paw-print that could only belong to Fon's tiny familiar.

Warmth bloomed in her chest as Tsubame read over the note once more. She tucked it back into her sports bra, wondering if Fon and Lichi had arrived yet.

The screen on her wrist flickered to life, cancelling her train of thought. "The Sky match will soon begin," declared a Cervello.

"You will have noticed by now a pole in each of your fields," continued the other. "Placed onto the circular platform at the top are the rings which correspond to your field."

As if its formidable height wasn't bad enough, it was also situated in the middle of the swimming pool that _should've_ been the size of her roomy flat, but was instead altered so that it became a lake of its own. Whereas before she could've stepped on the tips of her toes and have her head stick out of the water, now it was so deep that she'd need a human ladder if she ever hoped of breathing while in there.

 _Those Cervello sure did their research,_ she thought spitefully, eyeing the pole. Even if she did somehow manage to knock it down, the ring would only topple into the pool, and then what? Was she supposed to wait for someone who could swim to come and help her out? How mortifying.

"You may fight over them. If you can, that is."

Those ominous words were the only warning they got before their screens grew bright red. Tsubame felt something needle-like emerge from the bottom of the screen and stab into her skin, and her gasp quickly escalated into a tortured yell as lava flooded her veins.

"The poison built into all the wristbands has been injected into each of the Guardians. Unless they receive the antidote within thirty minutes, they will die."

That was the last thing Tsubame heard before she fell to the ground, her body now numb with pain. It felt like all the blood inside of her had been turned into flames of white-hot fire, of which was gradually roasting her from the inside out.

 _Thirty minutes._ She had half an hour before she met her lame end. She couldn't die like this – she refused to. Not without a fight.

Tsubame placed her trembling hand against the ground and painstakingly heaved herself up. The slightest of movements intensified the dull, burning pain into something sharper and piercing. Hot knives were digging into her skin and bone, the shock of it forcing her arm out from beneath her, sending her back to square one.

Her breaths came out as short, quick gasps as she fought through the pain for a second attempt. Now mentally prepared, she began her tedious crawl to the edge of the pool. She didn't know how long it took—it could've been three seconds, it could've been ten minutes—but eventually she reached the water's edge, and plunged her arm straight in.

Nothing happened. The cool relief she had been expecting didn't take place, and her body sagged with defeat as the motivation fuelling her evaporated. The pain returned ten-fold, and she swore she could feel her heartbeat in her head and her hands, and everywhere it shouldn't be.

It wasn't until a shadow hovered over her did Tsubame realise she was no longer alone. She peeled her eyes open, dreading the worst, and it took her a moment for her gaze to refocus and identify the person kneeling beside her.

She mouthed his name, her voice buried beneath the agony overcoming her.

"Save your breath," commanded Hibari as he lifted her arm. It terrified her that she couldn't even feel his grip on her as he fitted the ring into its slot. Like a valve that was turned off, the pain stopped. Her breathing evened as it the poison receded, its antidote counteracting its effects and soothing her body momentously.

He released her. "Now we're even."

 _Even? For what?_ Tsubame dismissed that train of thought; it wasn't important right now. "How did you get the ring down?" she asked, tilting her head to gain a better view of him and the pole. The latter wasn't destroyed and Hibari wasn't even the tiniest bit damp, so how…?

"I destroyed the contraption holding my one up," he said, flashing the Cloud ring in her face.

So hers was still up there. Tsubame inhaled deeply. "Please help the others, senpai. I'll get my own ring down."

Hibari frowned, but didn't argue with her, thankfully. By the time he was gone, Tsubame was sitting up and flexing her muscles. It was as if she had never been poisoned in the first place. Some of her had slipped of the bun she tied it back in before reaching the school, and she fixed it back into place as she stood up.

Now that she was more alert, she could spot the signs of combat happening above her. Tsuna and Xanxus flew through the sky, powered by their Flames, as they attempted to get a good hit in on each other. Privately, she hoped the Cervello were hit by the crossfire.

Tsubame approached the pool carefully. The smart thing to do would've been to ask Hibari to fetch her ring for her, but the logical path wasn't always the most ethical, and Tsubame felt as if this was her own personal test set up by the Cervello.

Surrounding the pool was a fence that was easily three metres tall, built in to prevent students from taking a dip whenever they wanted. Despite that, people managed to get in from time to time, much to Hibari's chagrin. Back when she was still on the DC, she heard him contemplating introduced barbed wire on top of the fence, but even he realised how extra _that_ was, and never went through with it.

It was a good thing, too, because it would've made her job a lot more difficult. A month ago, the thought of heaving herself over the fence would've been daunting at best, but now? Now she didn't even falter as she ran onto the bench she had often sat on whenever they were forced to swim for PE. She used it as a booster, leaping off of it and over the fence in one single motion.

 _This could've been avoided if those damn Cervello hadn't locked up the gate behind me,_ Tsubame grumbled internally. They were proving to be bigger thorns in the side than anyone had presumed.

Still, getting out was easy compared to getting back in. Spotting a particularly sturdy tree close to the fence, Tsubame jogged towards it and pulled herself onto it using one its thick branches. With a muttered thanks to the tree-planting committee (saving both the environment _and_ her hide – what troopers) Tsubame ran across the branch and flung herself off it.

She had no time to marvel her perfect landing on the fence as she used the momentum of her previous leap to jump into the air once more. For two glorious seconds, she _flew_ up into the air. But the platform was still too far away from her.

As reached the arc of her jump, Tsubame flicked her wrists. Her daggers shot out of their holsters hidden in the large, airy sleeves of her kimono, and she drove them into the thick metal platform as she began to descend. Before gravity could assert itself fully and drag her back down, Tsubame pushed down on the daggers, using them as handholds as she swung her legs up and heaved herself onto the platform.

Tsubame allowed herself a moment to catch her breath as she laid back on the metal disc. Her spirits soared as she grabbed her ring and slid it onto her finger, feeling much more confident now that she had it back. It was weird – she'd had the thing less than a week, and she was already so attached to it.

Getting down was somewhat trickier. Tsubame glanced down at the sea of water below her. If only she could swim…

She shook her head to dismiss the unhelpful thought as she returned the way she came – by unleashing her inner Lichi and running and jumping everywhere. Fortunately, she managed to land and fall in a safe manner, saving herself from some broken bones and a heap of embarrassment.

Explosions filled the air as Tsubame ran towards the school gym. Out of all the arenas, it was the one closest to her. When she got there, the door was already wide open. On edge, Tsubame hugged the side and peered into the doorway, but it was pointless.

"We know you're there," sang the self-proclaimed prince of the Varia. "Come out and play, little Wind Guardian."

 _Cocky, patronising bastard…_ Tsubame stepped into the gym, and her scowl loosened slightly at the state it was in. A giant hole had been blast through the ceiling, and whatever caused it had hit the stand holding the Mist ring up. Half of the floor was charred and covered with broken bits of the roof, limiting the range of her current battlefield.

Belphegor's odd chuckle filled the air as her grip tightened on her fans. One of his hands was clasping both of Chrome's behind her back, while the other held out her trident so that it was angled towards her neck. It was a bit of an overkill, since Chrome was so out of it that the only thing she could register was the feeling of the poison destroying her body bit by bit. Mammon hovered on Chrome's other side, a faint frown on his lips, and a small warning rang throughout her mind.

"Surprised?" jeered Bel.

"No," she said, and she meant it. "Dirty tricks like this is what the Varia's all about, no?"

"Running your mouth even in a situation like this?" he asked, pressing the trident closer to Chrome's throat. "Now be a good girl and hand us your ring before anyone gets hurt."

Tsubame forced her body to loosen and relax, even as her mind was running a mile a minute in order to find the chink in the armour that was Mammon's cloak. "How much research did you lot do on us before tonight?" she asked, her tone cool and casual.

Bel's smile slipped slightly at the non-sequitur. "Enough," he said, a hint of wariness creeping into his voice.

"So you know how, a few months back, the mass-murderer Rokudo Mukuro broke out of prison with the intention of killing Tsuna and taking over the world? How he kidnapped and maimed countless innocents for the sake of finding out who Tsuna was?"

She was snarling now, still raw over all the crimes Mukuro had committed but hadn't shown a single sign of remorse over. "Right now, he's trapped in a place where neither light nor sound can supposedly reach him. And yet he isn't – all because of that girl you have with you. If she dies, then so does Mukuro, and whatever plan he has to recapture Tsuna's body."

Bel let out a low, appreciative whistle she turned around and headed towards the exit. "Didn't think you pansies had it in you," he admitted, and even though he was on the other side of the hall, she could hear him loud and clear.

The reason for that was obvious, of course. Just like that time she was faced with the Varia underling, Tsubame waited for their guard to lower a fraction before striking.

The Varia members made a choking noise as the knives flew out of her fan and hit their marks. Despite the pain, Bel managed to fall on his left, his right adorned with the knives he had been too surprised to dodge. They didn't sink in too deeply—not like that time with Ken—since she had been so close to them when she attacked, limiting the force of her movements. On a good day, Bel would've stood right back up, but the swathe of bandages he was wrapped in told her he was still reeling from the consequences of his battle with Gokudera.

Mammon fared much better, as her main target had been the assassin holding her friend hostage. He was only grazed by a single knife, cutting through the hood of his cloak and slicing a fine cut along his cheek. Through the gap, Tsubame could spot strands of hair the colour of lavender, which was just mind-boggling. What kind of cutthroat killer had _lavender_ hair?

"Did you see through the illusion?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Tsubame took her time answering as she pressed her ring into Chrome's wristband. Her breathing regulated itself almost instantly as the antidote seeped into her.

"I did," she finally replied. "And I'll see through any and all illusions you try to pull over us for the time being. You seem worried," she noted as Mammon's face tightened. "Is what everyone says true after all? Are you hiding something?"

Whatever it was, Tsubame couldn't see it. The illusion was woven too tightly for her to parse through it, which made her want to know what the secret was all the more.

"Don't!" shrieked Mammon, startling her. She had no time to recover before his cloak burst open, revealing a set of blue tentacles that shot towards her.

 _That's not an illusion,_ she realised with a gasp. Tsubame leapt back so that she was directly in front of Chrome, her body a barrier between the recovering Mist Guardian and the writhing appendages rushing at her. Her daggers were in her hands again, and she swung wildly at the tentacles. Mammon released a terrible scream as her blades dug into his tentacles and sliced the tips right off. Coming to the conclusion that he was fighting a losing battle, he retracted them, and they zoomed straight into his body with a disgusting _squelch_.

"Just take it!" snapped Mammon. He tossed the Mist ring at her, and Tsubame was so busy trying to catch it that she didn't see Mammon disappear until it was too late.

"C…Coward," Belphegor wheezed out, his chest heaving up and down at a dangerous pace.

A spike of pity pricked her before she squashed it down ruthlessly. Psychopaths like him didn't deserve even an ounce of sympathy from her. Hating loose ends, Tsubame knelt down and slammed the hilt of her dagger into Bel's temple, knocking him out.

Chrome was sitting up now, and Tsubame moved to help her out before the stickiness of her hands stopped her. They were covered in a fine layer of what looked like green mucus, which had shot out of Mammon's tentacles like blood when she cut into them. Just what the hell _was_ he?

Tsubame's head snapped up as what sounded like a stampede raced towards her. She breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing Yamamoto, Gokudera and Ryohei run over to the gym, their faces lined with worry. She waved at them to show that she was fine. That didn't stop them from double-checking, though.

"I'm alright," she assured them, tired of their heckling – especially since they were in far worse condition than she was. Yamamoto's stomach wound had reopened, and he shouldn't have been standing, let alone running about the place.

"What happened here?" wondered Ryohei. His eyes darted to and fro from the collapsed gym and Bel's unconscious body. "Did you do this, Tsubame?"

"I beat him, yeah," she said, cleaning both her hands and knives using Bel's jacket. He wouldn't mind. "Dunno what happened to the gym, though."

"It was Boss," murmured Chrome. She stood, leaning heavily on her trident like a makeshift crutch. She must've suffered from the poison the longest out of all of them, if she was still in that much pain. "His fight with that man almost hit us."

Tsubame stiffened. "Is it still going on?" she asked the boys. She cursed when they nodded. "We need to get to him asap."

The decision was unanimous. It was slow-going, dragging their half-dead bodies over to the courtyard. Chrome was still drained, Yamamoto's bandages were growing redder and damper, Gokudera was limping, and Ryohei was holding his broken arm awkwardly. Tsubame's legs were starting to ache, but they managed.

When they got there, the fight was long over.


	27. Of Revelations and Results

XXVII

 _Of Revelations and Results_

"Tsuna…" whispered Yamamoto. "What _is_ this?"

 _This,_ of course, being the courtyard. It was puckered with multiple craters large enough two people to lie down across, looking more like the porous moon than the schoolyard they were so used to seeing. Most of them were still smoking and smouldering.

But the most notable feature of the arena was the _thing_ encasing Xanxus. He was frozen solid in a block of ice that was almost pearlescent, his expression one of intense fury as he shouted silently at them. It reminded Tsubame of the victims of Mt Vesuvius on volcano day, when they had been too slow to escape and were preserved in the state they had died in – one of anguish and terror.

Tsubame shivered.

They were all crowded around Tsuna, who had collapsed onto all fours even with his Hyper Dying Will mode activated. The moment he returned to his normal state, the damage he had taken to his body would overcome him, so he held on just for a little longer.

"I froze him forever," he murmured, his voice as deep and grave as it always was whenever he assumed his alternate identity. "That ice can never be melted."

"Oh, how wrong you are," cooed Lussuria.

It was almost sad, the way they were so easily cornered.

Parabolas took to the sky, circling around them and trapping them like rats. They had just begun to run when there was a cry of "Levi Volta!" and Tsubame's vision was filled with light. They screamed, loud enough to be heard over the crackling of electricity as they were fried alive. Tsubame's whole body tingled, as if tiny shards of ice were pricking every nerve in her body. When the attack ended, they fell to their ground, muscles cramping horribly while their skin sizzled with burns.

"That was just a warning shot," Leviathan told them gruffly. "Fight back, and the next one won't be so lenient."

Lussuria laughed as he swooped down on them like a vulture hungry for shiny trinkets. "As if they could possibly fight back," he said, swiping their rings.

"You…" growled Ryohei, his body twitching with aftershock. "After we gave you the antidote and saved your life, this is how you repay us?"

Lussuria clucked his tongue like a chastising mother. "Sweetie," he said, "don't you know? Mercy is for the weak."

Tonight wasn't the first time Xanxus had suffered from the ice prison of the Zero Point Breakthrough technique, Lussuria and Leviathan explained as they approached their frozen boss. Eight years ago, after the Varia had thrown a coup de tat against the Vongola, the Ninth himself had sealed Xanxus away as an alternative to killing his son. He was supposed to have been encased for the rest of eternity, his prison impregnable from both the outside and the in.

"Officially," said Lussuria, all eight rings in his gloved hands, "no one knows how Boss managed to escape. However, there weight eight scorch marks surrounding him, so people put two and two together."

Leviathan sneered. "The Vongola rings are more than just pretty displays of power and status. I bet you scum don't even know about the scores of power just waiting to be tapped into. Watch and learn."

It was beautiful. Tsubame could appreciate the sight she was faced with even as she tried to settle her twitching limbs. The Vongola rings were on fire, each ablaze with a differently coloured flame that corresponded to its element. The red Storm, the blue Rain, the yellow Sun, the purple Cloud, the indigo Mist, the silver Wind, and finally, the orange Sky. It was like a rainbow.

A rainbow of inestimable power, at any rate. Lussuria held out the rings, his hand outstretched towards Xanxus. Steam filled the courtyard, so thick that they could barely see what was happening. It was easy to guess, though.

The ice was melting.

"No!" yelled Tsuna, but it was too late.

With a sharp crack, the ice split and shattered, leaving Xanxus to drop to the ground, face-up. Leviathan knelt down and gathered the chain by Xanxus's leg. It was like a wallet chain, except this one had little rectangles fitted for all seven of the Guardian rings.

They held their breaths as Lussuria slipped the Sky ring onto Xanxus's finger. "Welcome to a new era, kiddos," the Varia's Sun Guardian announced cheerfully, but there was a faint growl lining his words.

It was almost heavenly, the light that was being emitted from Xanxus's ring. For a moment, Tsubame felt better, her wounds healed and her sores soothed. But it ended as Xanxus sprung to his feet, laughing deeply and madly as he stared at his ring. As if responding to his enthusiasm, the Sky Flames intensified, and Tsubame had to look away before she was blinded.

"Power!" cried Xanxus. "Endless power is flowing through me!"

And then it stopped.

Xanxus's victorious cry shifted into one of pain as the Flames changed directions and rushed straight into him. Groaning, he collapsed onto his knees, and fell face-down on the ground.

Spots danced in Tsubame's eyes as she accustomed to the abrupt darkness. The effects of Leviathan's lightning had simmered down into something more manageable, and she pushed herself up. Around her, the others were beginning to do the same.

"Boss!" Leviathan hastily turned Xanxus so that he was lying on his back. "What happened?!"

"The rings," gasped Tsuna, struggling to stand. "The rings rejected Xanxus."

"What sort of blasphemy are you spouting, boy?!"

Tsuna met Leviathan's furious gaze levelly. "Xanxus cannot become the Tenth. He doesn't have the blood of Vongola."

Leviathan made to lunge towards Tsuna, but Xanxus's scornful chuckle stilled him. "That's right," he said, rising shakily. "I'm not the Ninth's son; we're not related by blood. It was all a lie." His lips curled into a snarl at the stunned expressions of those around him. "Don't you dare pity me, you trash!"

Tsuna frowned. "Even if you aren't blood-related, you're still his son. The Ninth doesn't love you any less because of that."

"Shut up!" roared Xanxus. Spittle flew from his mouth as whatever trigger he had on his emotions was yanked on. "Don't talk as if you know anything about me!"

"But I do." Tsuna closed his eyes, as if digging through his memories. "The night of the Cloud battle, when the Ninth touched a finger to my head, he showed me his memories of you. You came from a poor family, Xanxus, and your mother was desperate for you to have a good life. So when your Sky flames were revealed, she was ecstatic, and brought you to the Ninth. He saw through the situation, and accepted you as his son from then on."

What should've been a touching reassurance seemed to agitate Xanxus further. "Like I give a shit about that!" he snapped. "That damned old man lied to me – he made me believe I was going to inherit the Family for _years_! But I can't," he said, jaw clenched. "All because of my inferior blood."

The Cervello chose that moment to intervene. "Well then, since it is clear Xanxus-sama is unable to succeed as heir, the victor of the ring conflict is Sawada Tsunayoshi," one of them declared.

"We will be taking the rings now." The other Cervello reached down to extract the rings from Xanxus's person, but just because an animal was down, it didn't mean it was out for the count.

"As if I'll let you do that," spat Xanxus, surprising her.

The Cervello glanced at each other and nodded. Their hands reached for whatever weapons were concealed on them, but before they could withdraw it, both collapsed with a gasp. They fell on their faces, revealing a knife in each of their backs.

"Shishishi," snickered Belphegor, who looked right as rain. A web of knives danced between his hands. "You peasants should've tied me up when you had the chance. I'm going to enjoy slicing you all open."

Tsubame felt Bel's vengeful glare on her, even if his eyes were covered by his overgrown bangs. She scowled back.

The neutral judges of the Cervello industry were the only reason order had been maintained between the two warring parties for so long, and now their dead bodies were cooling off right in front of them. Right now, all Tsubame felt was cold rage, but she knew the terror and grief would come later.

If she survived that long.

"It's seven against four," pointed out Gokudera, sticks of dynamite already in-hand. "You traitors have no chance of winning."

"Eight," grunted out Hibari as he entered the courtyard. His clothes and face were cut, and he was favouring his left leg, the right one dragging behind him. Tsubame was well aware that that didn't make him any less lethal, however.

"Naïve," scoffed Leviathan. "You forget – the Varia is composed of more than just us. We have an army waiting for us right outside." He smiled down at them. "Good luck facing hundreds of ours soldiers."

As if on cue, three hitmen rushed into the courtyard. "Levi-sama!" shouted the man in front. "We must retreat! The entire squad but us has been defeated!"

"It's a demon!" quailed another, his red eyeshadow almost looking like fresh bruises in the dark of the night. "A one-man army!"

For one delirious second, Tsubame expected Hibari to claim responsibility. Instead, what could only be described as a small wrecking ball smashed into the what was left of the Varia's squad, silencing them for good. It even kicked up a whirlwind in its wake, which Tsubame thought was just showing off.

"It's him," murmured Chrome. "The man Mukuro-sama's been talking to."

"Lancia-san!" gasped Tsuna. "Why are you here?"

The man named Lancia smiled as he tugged back at his ball-and-chain, which probably weighed the same as all of them combined. As if weapon and killing intent weren't telling enough, the suit he wore confirmed that he was indeed a Mafioso.

"I just happened to be in the area," he claimed.

 _Who the heck is this guy?_ wondered Tsubame, confused. Well, whoever he was, he had tipped the scales in their favour. The Varia were tired and beaten, in more ways than one, and their plan B had been dashed to bits thanks to Lancia. This time, when a new pair of Cervello came to collect the rings, they backed down peacefully.

"I bet you're pleased by this outcome, huh?" muttered Xanxus as the rings were taken from him. "It's just as you wanted."

"Pardon us," the Cervello replied stoically, "but this is neither our wish nor our prediction. It has all been decided already. You've completed your purpose, Xanxus." And wasn't that ominous?

If Mammon was a mystery, then the Cervello were simply enigmas.

Tsuna finally let go of his Hyper Dying Will form, allowing exhaustion to overcome him. He was asleep before he even hit the ground, and Tsubame followed suit by sinking down to her knees, a hand over her chest. It was finally over.

The next few hours were a blur of faceless and nameless medics sent by the Vongola Family to check on all combatants of the ring conflict. Tsubame was diagnosed with first degree burns and strained muscles, but was otherwise okay. Those whose wounds reopened were rushed elsewhere to be operated on once again, and Lambo was taken as well, as they weren't sure how the poison would've affected him in the state he was in. Hibari went with them, his limp leg overcoming his pride for the moment.

She didn't even want to begin the long list of problems plaguing Tsuna's body.

The Varia could choke for all she cared.

Ken and Chikusa accompanied them home that night. They didn't say _why_ , exactly, but the worried glances they shot Chrome was telling enough. Tsubame milked their concern for all it was worth and made Chikusa carry her back to her flat.

"Where are you staying once Gokudera signs out of the hospital?" she murmured into his shoulder, too tired to even lift her head.

"At one of the hotels in town," he said, shifting his arms a little as she clung onto his back. "Your parents sent me a credit card with money loaded into it. They're connected with the Vongola's outside advisor, and it was through them that he decided he could trust us to lend your boss a hand."

Tsubame smiled as she sagged against her cousin. She sincerely appreciated her parents…even if they were rather difficult to live with.

But it could've been worse. Tsubame thought of Tsuna with his absentee father, Yamamoto and his deceased mother, Ryohei's dead parents, Gokudera's complicated family, Chrome's obviously negligent parents, and Hibari's… Well, she didn't really know what was going on with him, but no one with a decent home life turned out like _that._

She sighed. "We're all pretty messed up, aren't we?"

"You just realised that now, byon?" scoffed Ken.

"Chikusa, hit him."

Ken snorted. "Yeah, right, as if Chikusa would actually— Hey!" he yelped, cradling his injured shin. "Kakipii, why'd you kick me?!"

"I felt like it," he said.

"It's because you're annoying," Chrome said matter-of-factly.

"That, too."

"You guys suck!" wailed Ken.

* * *

Two days later, Tsubame was back to normal – physically, at least. Everyone else felt the same way, so it was only natural a party was thrown in celebration of their success. Ostensibly, it was to congratulate them on their sumo competition victory, but almost everyone knew the real reason underlying it.

The promise of free food—sashimi, no less—had convinced the Kokuyo trio to come, although they huddled into one corner of the room and refused to engage in conversation with the other guests. Tsubame wasn't surprised to see them go ten minutes into the party, having had their fill of both food and social interaction.

Tsubame was on her third plate of salmon when Haru sidled up next to her. "Haru's glad you're all right, Tsubame-chan. You are, aren't you?" she added, chestnut eyes scanning Tsubame for any hidden injuries.

"I'm fine," she assured her, smiling.

From her seat across her, Hana raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Does that mean everything's back to normal?" asked Haru.

Tsubame glanced at the restaurant, where Yamamoto was helping his dad slice up some fish as easily as he would someone's throat in the heat of a battle. Near the exit, Tsuna was trying to convince Dino that he absolutely did _not_ want to become a Mafioso, while Gokudera ignored him and began to enthusiastically plan out their lives together once they inherited the Vongola Family. Beside them, Kyoko smiled indulgently, but it only emphasised the bags beneath her eyes.

She returned her gaze to her salmon, its flesh pink as the hair of the pointlessly dead Cervello. "Yeah," she said, grabbing another piece of fish. "Everything's back to normal."

An hour later, Reborn disappeared.


	28. Of the Future

XXVIII

 _Of the Future_

Tsubame couldn't stand horror movies, even before she began having nightmares frequently and garishly enough to give a psychologist a field day. She didn't enjoy being terrified or kept in suspense, so it was only natural that her friends' disappearances were starting to eat on her.

Reborn had been the first to go. According to Tsuna, the hitman had been swallowed up by the Ten Year Bazooka right after the party, but instead of switching places with his future self, no one showed up. Figuring his home tutor would return sooner or later, Tsuna continued on his way home.

The next day, a search party was released. The first place Tsubame checked was Fon's food cart, but he was as clueless as she was. When she returned to Tsuna's house as planned, the only people there were Bianchi, Fuuta and Nana.

Gokudera never came home. Neither did Chrome. Tsubame visited the place Ken and Chikusa were staying at, but they hadn't seen her, either. Yamamoto had disappeared on the same day as Tsuna, Haru, and the kids had vanished. The Sasagawa siblings were all that remained of the main group, and Tsubame warned to keep their eyes peeled for any suspicious movement. They didn't question her, the Varia ordeal still fresh on their minds, and told her to do the same.

There were a plethora of theories Tsubame had drawn from what little evidence was available. One: the bazooka was malfunctioning, and the others were stuck in limbo for what could be eternity. It was a terrible proposition, but still better than the others.

Two: both their future and past selves were dead. Being swapped with your corpse and forced to suffocate to death in your pre-determined coffin didn't sound any more appealing than her previous idea.

Three: they were dying. Perhaps their future selves were engaged in combat with an enemy so fierce that, when they switched places, their younger selves were slain immediately.

But where were their future selves? Was the bazooka a weapon only the Bovino could use without consequence? No – Lambo hadn't returned either.

What on earth was going on?

More than anything, it was her ignorance and inability to do anything that was driving her up the wall. Her friends were picked off one by one, and she had no way of fixing or stopping it. She kept her mind off things by working out, but she couldn't be on the move 24/7, and was left with way too much time for her thoughts to overcome her.

Normally, when things began to spiral downwards, she would go bother Gokudera. Since he was….wherever he was, Tsubame went to the other side of flat and visited Shoichi. As there was no hole in _their_ shared wall, she had to resort to putting on her shoes, going outside, knocking, and then heading back inside with her shoes off once more.

The wall between their flats must've been thinner than she thought, because it seemed as if her apprehension had seeped through and latched onto Shoichi as well. It was a nice distraction from her own toxic mind, at least.

"What's wrong?" she asked, stepping into his living room.

Shoichi ducked his head, refusing to meet her eyes. "Do you think I'm a horrible person, Tsubame-kun?"

She tensed. "It depends on what you've done, Shoichi." Although it wasn't as if she had much room to talk. Ken's and Bel's faces flashed through her mind, and her hands twitched minutely, the knives resting on her forearms just itching to be used again.

"It's not like I _want_ to do it," began Shoichi, his squeaky voice cracking with hysteria. "I have no choice, Tsubame-kun. Please know that."

Tsubame stepped back, away from Shoichi and closer to the exit. "What's going on, Shoichi? Are you being threatened?"

"It's… It's complicated," he said, shrinking in on himself. "Please don't hate me too much when you go."

Go? Was he letting her leave? Or was there some other meaning behind his words?

"Shoichi…" Tsubame lowered her voice, softened her tone, much like she would when talking to the stray cat that liked to lurk around the park. "Before you do anything rash, let's talk things out. Whatever it is that's hanging over you, we can deal with it together."

Shoichi appeared to think over it for a moment and, to her relief, nodded. "I just need you to do something for me first," he said, sounding back to normal – which was to say, nervous and a little awkward. It was endearing, really. "I need you to close your eyes and count to ten out loud."

A strange request, but one she was willing to humour in order for Shoichi to confide in her. Her posture loosened as she closed her eyes shut, but she rested her hands on her fans, which were tucked into her obi. Ever since Reborn had disappeared yesterday, Tsubame refused to take any chances and kept her ass-kicking outfit on (as Hana had aptly named it) wherever she went.

Her lips were forming the number "three" when the world went dark. Tsubame's eyes flew wide open, and suddenly, she was no longer in Shoichi's living room.

Everything was pink. There no up or down, no left or right, no proper ending or beginning to the space she was floating through. Rainbow rings surrounded her body like a beam, and she was dragged by an invisible force as strong as ten bulls into something that actually resembled earth.

The pink smoke enshrouding her was her first clue. Tsubame cut through the plumes efficiently with her fans, nearly whacking someone else as she did so. She leapt back, putting some distance between herself and the potential enemy.

A girl with long, black hair tied into twin tails blinked down at her. "Tsubame…chan?"

That voice – it was sweet and clear, like nectar, and oddly familiar. But the face was totally unrecognisable to her. "Who are you?" she asked warily, fans unfolded in her hands.

The girl lifted a hand, and Tsubame prepared for an attack. Instead, she parted a pigtail from the side of her hair, revealing a head of caramel-coloured hair covered in a thin net. "It's me," she said. "Sasagawa Kyoko."

Tsubame's first instinct was to deny her bold-faced lie, but once she saw through the black contacts and wig, the similarities jumped right at her. "No way," she breathed. "I really am in the future."

Immediate threat gone, Tsubame allowed herself to take in her surroundings. She was in a forest so densely packed she could barely see the blue skies above. The trees didn't strike her as unusual, which meant they weren't anywhere too foreign. Then again, her future self could've been anywhere in the world when they switched places.

Well, at least she was alive in ten years' time. That was reassuring.

"What's with the get-up?" she asked, turning back to Kyoko. She was taller by at least a head, her face and body more filled out now that puberty was long behind her. In addition to the wig and contacts, Kyoko was also wearing an outfit perfectly suited for the outdoors _._

"I'll explain as we walk," said Kyoko, handing her a backpack that must've belonged to her future self. "It isn't too safe around these parts."

After placing her fans away, Tsubame shrugged on the brown bag. "These parts being…?"

"You don't recognise it?" Kyoko asked, surprised. "You told me you often trained here, back in the day."

At that, Tsubame eyed the forest more closely. It wasn't too much taller than them, maybe three times her height at most, and had trees thick enough to leap from branch to branch, just like… Just like the forest Fon had taken her to ten days before the Varia had arrived.

"We're in Namimori?" she gasped.

Kyoko smiled, but it paled in comparison to the one her past self had shown Tsubame not two hours ago. What had the past ten years done to Kyoko?

"Were you expecting somewhere like Italy?" she asked. "Because we were, you know. Just a few days ago."

Italy was the heart of the underworld, and Tsubame gathered the sense that they hadn't travelled all the way there just to sight-see. "What for?" she asked neutrally.

Since she was a few steps ahead of her, Tsubame couldn't see Kyoko's expression, but the squaring of her shoulders was telling enough. "I'm a…doctor, but in the underworld, I'm referred to as either a healer or a medic. I was ordered to head to the mansion to help the Ninth out."

Kyoko was involved in the mafia – and not just peripherally like she had been ten years in the past. It shouldn't have been too shocking a concept, and yet…

Kyoko peered at Tsubame over her shoulder, a teasing smile dancing on her lips. "Surprised?"

"Kinda, yeah." She laughed sheepishly. "I can't see either Tsuna or Ryohei-senpai accepting your decision too happily."

"Oh, they didn't," assured Kyoko, brushing a low-hanging branch out of the way. "But I'm a non-combatant medic, so it wasn't as bad as it could've been. Deep down, they knew I was in the right."

The foliage was getting thicker now, so much so that not even a lone ray of sunlight could puncture the dense tree-tops. Where were they going?

"Tsubame-chan, I don't know why you've reverted to your teenage self, but I assume it's part of Tsu-kun's plan."

Tsu-kun? "Plan?"

Kyoko huffed in amusement. "He's always trying to keep things from me, but I can see through him like glass sometimes," she said with exasperated fondness, and it reminded Tsubame of the way Tsuna's mum would talk about his dad sometimes.

When Kyoko spoke again, her voice had dropped to a low whisper, as if wary the forest itself had ears on them. "Several days ago, a Family known as the Millefiore declared war against the Vongola. All the bases around the globe have been attacked – hundreds have died already. One of the conditions of being a medic for the Vongola was that I'd have a Guardian with me at all times, which was almost always you, Tsubame-chan."

That made sense. Tsubame was one of the only Guardians who would genuinely, wholeheartedly care about Kyoko, while the others were either her brother or…whatever Tsuna was to her. Love could only get you so far in a fight.

"We were already halfway across Italy when the Millefiore struck the mansion," continued Kyoko, hands trembling slightly. Short as she was compared to her, Tsubame could easily spot the callouses decorating Kyoko's long fingers. A ring sat on her right middle finger, shaped as a medical cross beneath the odd netting covering it up. "Ever since then, we've adopted new identities, forged some passports, and snuck our way back to Japan."

A million questions were on the tip of her tongue, but they'd have to wait. The chittering forest animals that had served as a backdrop to their conversation suddenly dropped, prompting Tsubame to stop and whirl around. Something was coming, but from where? The left? The right?

 _Up._ The tops of the trees were ripped apart by an unnatural gust of wind concentrated directly above Tsubame and Kyoko. They ducked to the side, landing awkwardly due to the packs on their backs, as a mini hurricane whipped through.

Tsubame jumped back on her feet once it passed, paying no mind to the cuts and scratches all over her as she locked eyes with the enemy. He was wearing loose black clothing with weird white pads on his shoulders, but what really captured her attention was the grey fire emerging from his feet. The wispy flames were also wrapped around the blade of his scythe, the cause of the now-bare trees.

"Well, well, well," he said, hovering above them much like Tsuna would when in his HDW mode. "The ring radar picked up one signal, but there are _two_ little kittens to play with."

Kyoko gasped. "Tsubame-chan, you have a ring on you?"

Tsubame ignored her in favour of glaring at the blonde man leering at them from above. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"I'm Jackson of the Millefiore Family – Black Spell, of course," he added, brandishing his uniform at her. "No need to introduce yourself, though. I already know who you are, Vongola's Wind Guardian. You really don't change much in ten years' time, do you?" He raked his brown eyes up and down her figure appraisingly.

If Tsubame could shoot daggers with her eyes, Jackson… Well, he still wouldn't be affected – not with those abilities of his. His scythe rendered all her weapons useless.

"Hand over the Vongola Ring," he said, resting a hand on his hip. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Tsubame bowed her head, allowing her unbound hair to fall around her like a curtain. "Can you run?" she asked Kyoko, her lips barely moving as she murmured.

Kyoko's response was just as subdued. "Yes."

"Go now. I'll be right behind you."

Kyoko hesitated for but a second before taking off. She ran straight past both herself and Jackson, but before he could do more than yell at her, Tsubame drew his attention back to her with a, "Hey!"

She flashed her ring at him. "You want this?" she taunted, moving her right hand to her left as if to take it off and lob it at him. "Go get it!"

With an almighty swing, Tsubame threw what was in her hand deep into the forest and in the direct opposite of where Kyoko was running. Screaming in frustration, Jackson gave chase, not even sparing a moment to strike her as he flew by.

Ten years ago, were she and Kyoko to race one another, the winner would've been Tsubame without a doubt. A decade of fleeing from enemy Mafioso must've done Kyoko some good, since she had been reduced into nothing but a smidge of caramel, so great was the distance between them. Tsubame's short legs were of no help, either.

She didn't need to turn around to know that Jackson had doubled back and was heading her way; she could hear the crackle of his flames as he closed the gap. "You deceitful bitch!" he roared, and he sounded frighteningly close.

A cardinal rule of horror films was to keep your eyes on the path ahead, and never look back. Tsubame's life wasn't a horror movie, but it was damn well close enough, and it was with great trepidation that she glanced over her shoulder, even if it was for just two seconds.

On the bright side, Jackson had stopped trying to undress them with his eyes. They were now narrowed in anger, his hands clenched into fists over the metal pole of his scythe. He was flying so lowly that, if Tsubame stopped and reached her hand upwards, she would just brush his underside.

It was only when she gazed back ahead again that she grasped his reasoning. It was the trees. If he moved any higher, he'd get a face full of sticks and leaves. If their places were switched—if she knew how to manipulate her flames into bootleg jetpacks—Tsubame would've ditched the small forest entirely and taken to the skies. Jackson's scythe could've destroyed the vegetation blocking the way with ease, just like the first time he'd done it.

Unless… Unless he couldn't use the scythe while in motion. That would throw a spanner in the works, wouldn't it? Every time he'd stop to clear the way, she and Kyoko would be that much further from him. It explained why he wasn't trying to attack her; not only would she probably be buried by the fallen trees, thus inconveniencing his search for the ring, she could also just start running to the side in order to dodge his strike.

Although, if things were progressing the way they were, he might just grow desperate enough to attack. Tsubame herself was tiring, which Jackson quickly picked up on.

"I've got you now!" he laughed, and she could feel the heat of his flames as he came up right behind her.

"Tsubame-chan, duck!"

Kyoko had barely finished her sentence when Tsubame dropped to the grassy floor. A chipmunk ran up a tree and launched itself at Jackson's head with the intent of clawing his eyes out. Its fierce hisses and Jackson's cries mingled together to create a cacophony of chaos as Tsubame rolled back to her feet and, much like the chipmunk, leapt at the Millefiore. Whereas Kyoko's chipmunk had sharp teeth and claws to do its bidding, Tsubame had her knives.

It was hard, jumping up and swinging open her fans at the same time, but boundaries were often overcome during emergencies, and Tsubame managed to send some knives into Jackson's person. Most were knocked aside by his scythe, which he was swinging around wildly as the chipmunk continued to wage war on him. The knives hit his torso, but couldn't find any purchase in him, and fell to the floor, the tips dyed red. Tsubame scooped them back up for the sake of round two.

Kyoko's chipmunk squealed in fright as Jackson finally grabbed hold of it. With one tight squeeze, the rodent burst into yellow Sun flames instead of the blood and guts Tsubame had been expecting. It had done its job, though – one was forced shut by the scratches running across his eyelid.

Instead of impeding him, the shallow stab wounds seemed to invigorate him. Jackson released a war cry that simultaneously sent birds flying from their nests and had his flames doubling in size and intensity.

"Vongola!" he howled into the woods. "Stop running like a coward, and come fight me!"

Not waiting for a response, the Millefiore swung his scythe repeatedly in every direction. Groans filled the air as trees were toppled indiscriminately, and Tsubame hopped from tree to tree as she waited for the perfect moment.

 _Now!_ Jackson's back was turned to her as jumped off the tree she was perched on. Something gave her away—be it the sound of her clothes flapping in the wind or just pure instinct on his part—and he turned at the last second, his scythe slashing diagonally across her chest, but not before she could sink her daggers into his shoulders.

A spray of warm blood slapped her right in the face, and only the taste of copper on her lips kept her from peeling them back and screaming bloody murder. Jackson's own shrieks of pain almost shattered her eardrums, and she let go of the knives dug deep into his shoulders before he regained his senses and retaliated.

It wasn't like he needed to, anyway. Her chest was on fire, and it felt a lot like the time the Cervello had poisoned her during Tsuna's Sky match. Just like that time, she couldn't move. Unlike then, though, her wounds were external, and if she didn't receive medical attention soon, she'd bleed to death.

Her only consolation was that Jackson was down, too. The pain of his wounds must've been extreme enough to cause him to lose power over his flames. He was lying on his back not three metres away from her, hyperventilating rapidly. Even if he wanted to crawl over and finish her off, there was no way he could fight through the agony to use his arms to prop himself up.

Kyoko rushed over to her, her hands glowing with Sun flames as she kneeled next to her. "Tsubame-chan, I know it hurts, but I'm going to need you to stay awake for just a little while longer."

A mumbled affirmative was all Tsubame could handle at the moment. Kyoko's warm hands lingered above her open wound, and as the minutes ticked by, the pain began to lessen. Jackson had stopped moaning, which either meant he was unconscious or dead. Tsubame hoped for the latter, if only to keep him from contacting back-up to finish off the job.

By now, the pain was less searing and more dull. Kyoko paused in her work to wipe the sweat from her brow using the back of her hand. "You're no longer under threat of bleeding out, but I don't have enough energy to heal it completely," she said apologetically.

"Can I move?" she asked cautiously, not wanting to rip her wound right back open.

Dismay filled her as Kyoko shook her head. "I can carry you," she offered, but they both knew it wasn't a feasible plan.

Tsubame sighed. "Since we're stuck here for now, could you grab my bag? I dumped it somewhere back there when I was attacking that bastard."

"Sure thing."

With a soft grunt, Kyoko heaved herself up and began looking beneath the underbrush for Tsubame's backpack. Tsubame continued to lay on her back and stare up at the sky as she listened to Kyoko rustle through the bushes and fallen trees. The colour of the sky and sunshine were the same, meaning little time had passed despite the eternity Tsubame was personally experiencing.

Less than a minute later, she heard footsteps coming close to her. "That was fast," she said. "Did you find it already?"

"Find what?" asked a deep voice that certainly did _not_ belong to Kyoko.

Tsubame snapped her head to the side, inadvertently smearing dirt on her left cheek. A man with pale skin and ruffled hair peered down at her, eyebrows raised in a silent question. She narrowed her eyes at him. He smirked in response.

"Who the hell are you?" she hissed. It would've been more impressive if she wasn't, in fact, lying prostrate on the ground as he towered over her.

"You mean you don't recognise me?" he asked archly.

 _Right,_ she thought, _the future._ "I could probably see better if you weren't so high up. Take a seat and let me have a good look at you."

The man huffed in what she thought was amusement. To her surprise, he actually lowered himself on one knee, but then all she felt was alarm as he scooped her up into his arms and stood back up again.

"Wha—?" Tsubame shot her arm up to hit the man in the face, but a jolt of pain from her chest sent it crashing back down again. She gasped.

"Sasagawa would've told you not to move," he reminded her snidely. "I've forgotten how bad you used to be at following orders."

The sassy, biting remarks, the steel grey eyes, the black hair… His overall aura was a bit different, and his hairstyle was weird, but there was only one person this man could be. Now Tsubame _really_ wanted to be put down.

Kyoko's expression was one of relief as she returned to the clearing. "You got my S.O.S. after all," she said to the adult version of Hibari.

Hibari nodded. "A team will be here soon to deal with the body," he said, referring to Jackson.

Tsubame flinched. "He's dead?"

"Not yet."

Now that she was being carried bridal-style (Tsubame tried not to squirm at that) it took little effort to study Hibari's face carefully. Like Kyoko's, his face had slimmed down as the last of his babyfat had disappeared sometime in the last ten years. His expression was no less closed off than his teenage self's, but at least he no longer looked like he would bite someone's head off just for glancing at him funnily.

At his chilling reply, his eyes sharpened infinitesimally. The primal part of her brain screeched, a warning for her to get away from Hibari as fast as possible. He was a threat, a predator – the type of man who could slaughter a whole platoon without batting an eye.

But he was Hibari. Ten years did nothing to change that. Deep down, she trusted him.

Instead of fighting it, Tsubame closed her eyes and leaned into Hibari's unexpectedly broad chest. She was asleep within seconds.


	29. Of Reunions

XXIX

 _Of Reunions_

It felt like the calm before the storm. That was how Tsuna would describe it.

They were halfway through dinner when the doors to the kitchen-slash-dining room slid open with a hiss. Tsuna peered up from his curry rice, expecting either Giannini or Fuuta to walk in, covered in mechanical oil as per usual. Instead, he found himself looking at an older version of Kyoko.

Tsuna's eyes flew wide open as he choked on his food, sending him straight into a brutal coughing fit. Gokudera kicked up a fuss and slammed his hand against Tsuna's back in attempt to help him, but he only made things worse. Now Tsuna's throat _and_ back were smarting.

Yamamoto handed him a glass of water, which he hastily chugged down. "K-Kyoko-chan?!" he said, scrambling to get out of his chair. "Is that you?"

Kyoko pulled back from Haru's tight hug with a smile. "It's been a while since you were shorter than me, Tsu-kun," she noted sweetly.

 _Tsu-kun?!_ His cheeks felt warmer than the sun itself. "I'm glad you made it out of Italy safely," he murmured.

It was one of the things Tsuna had first learned once he wound up in the future. Kyoko and his parents had been overseas when the first siege by the Millefiore began. While Tsuna trusted in his dad to protect himself and Mum, he didn't have the same confidence in Kyoko's safety. He couldn't stop worrying her, which pissed off Lal and Hibari during their training sessions.

Kyoko's smile lost some of its brightness. "It was thanks to Tsubame-chan. She… She almost died defending me."

Haru perked up. "Tsubame-chan is here as well?"

"Sort of. My Tsubame and yours switched. She's in the infirmary right now."

"The infirmary?" Yamamoto kicked back his chair. "What happened?"

"She—" Kyoko's eyes widened as she stopped mid-sentence. Without warning, she removed the ring on her finger and the box in her pocket. She just placed it on the dining table when she disappeared in a cloud of pink smoke.

When it cleared, Tsuna no longer had to crane his head to lock eyes with Kyoko. She blinked at them, puzzled. "Tsuna-kun?" asked the teenage Kyoko. "Haru-chan?"

The two aforementioned brunettes exchanged a glance. "You're going to want to sit down," Haru said gently. "We have a lot to talk about."

Tsuna smiled encouragingly at Kyoko before nodding at Haru. "Thank you," he said sincerely, rushing out the door. Gokudera and Yamamoto were right on his heels, although he wasn't sure if the former truly cared, or was simply tagging along.

The infirmary was a single, wide room with no more than ten gurneys in it. Tsubame was sleeping on the bed on the far end of the room, and in between them stood Hibari and Ryohei. They looked up at their entrance, halting their hushed conversation – the hot topic of which was Tsuna, judging by the way they gazed at him.

But there were more pressing matters to address. "How is she?" he asked, hurrying over.

"Stable," reassured Ryohei. "Kyoko did a good job patching her up."

That was right; Kyoko ended up becoming a medic in the future. As much as Tsuna despised the thought of Kyoko getting tangled up with the mafia, he supposed it was inevitable. At least she wasn't in the front lines, unlike Tsubame.

"What happened?" asked Yamamoto, his eyes glued to Tsubame's figure. She was wearing the same outfit she had donned for the Sky battle, except now it was sporting a blood-soaked tear across it.

"She's going to be so pissed once she sees the state of her top," grunted Gokudera. "Her mentor got it for her. She wouldn't stop bragging about it."

Tsuna glanced at Gokudera from the corner of his eye. Perhaps he was wrong to assume he didn't care about Tsubame the way they did.

Hibari made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. Muttering something about "crowds" and "herbivores flocking together," he stalked off. Once he left, Tsuna released a breath he didn't realise he was withholding.

"Kyoko filled me in on the details," began Ryohei. "She and Tsubame were posing as a couple out for a hike in the woods. They were disguised, their rings were covered, and things went off without a hitch. But then Tsubame became young again, her ring tripped off the sensors, and a Millefiore grunt was sent out to investigate it. He was from the Black Spell, so he had the same scythe as the ones that attacked you guys a few days ago."

Tsuna grimaced at the reminder. The Black Spell brothers had done quite a number on them when they were trying to protect future Haru, I-Pin and Lambo. Things soured when they reverted to their younger selves as well. It was pure luck that Tsuna and Gokudera managed to take them down.

"So Hibari arrived just in time and took him down?" surmised Yamamoto.

"No," replied Ryohei, appearing surprised by the assumption. "Kyoko distracted him with her box animal, and then Tsubame stabbed him."

"What, with ordinary knives?" Gokudera said incredulously. "He was using a box weapon, right?"

Ryohei nodded grimly. "He was a Wind type, too. Their weapons cut extremely deep, even if it barely grazes you. If Kyoko hadn't been there…"

"I'd be dead," filled in Tsubame, who was now awake. Her arms twitched, but she stilled them with a wince. "Can someone rub the gunk out of my eyes? No?" She sighed. "Shoichi would've done it."

 _Shoichi…?_ Tsuna gasped. "You mean Irie Shoichi? That guy's the enemy, Tsubame!"

"What?" she said in a weirdly high-pitched voice. "Shoichi is, like, the nicest guy I know."

"Maybe back then," muttered Gokudera. "But who knows what could've happened in the ten years since?"

"She's on an extreme amount of drugs right now," clarified Ryohei. "She'll be out of it for a few hours."

"I'm still lucid," she claimed. It would've been more convincing were it not for the slur in her voice. "Tell me everything you know about this shitty era."

Here was the gist of things. The Millefiore was an organisation composed of two Families joined together: the Gesso and the Giglio Nero. Instead of wearing the typical suit and tie most Families tended to don, the Millefiore preferred to wear their own uniforms, which were either black or white depending on the Family they originated from. It was messed up in more ways than one.

Even though both bosses should've been ruling equally, there was no doubt that Byakuran was the head honcho of the Millefiore - they didn't even know the _identity_ of the other boss. Since he was in control of everything, the distribution of the segregating uniforms was his doing as well. His own Family wore white while the others wore black, and maybe Tsubame reading a little too into this, but the colour symbolism spoke volumes.

In five days, Tsuna and the others were planning to storm the Japan branch of the Millefiore HQ. It was actually in Namimori, underground like their own Vongola hideout was. The Merone Base—"Melon?" "It's Merone, idiot!" "Don't harass me while I'm recovering, asshole!"—was established where the mall was supposed to be, right next to the subway. It took a moment for her drug-addled brain to overcome the sheer surrealism of the fact that the underground mall, which had only opened the other day in her time, was now a base for illicit mafia affairs.

"Five days… That's not a lot of time," she mused.

The tightening of Tsuna's expression told her he was well aware of that. "We have no choice. It's either attack in five days' time, or sit here and wait until they get to us first."

The lesser of two evils. Tsuna had been in the future for no more than a handful of days, but he'd already aged years in that short time. Tsubame chanced a glance at Gokudera and Yamamoto, who looked so drained both mentally and physically. Maybe one day she'd feel comfortable enough to ask them what they'd been through, but now was not the time.

"It'll be fine," Yamamoto told them with a smile. "We beat the Varia in only ten days, didn't we? It's pretty much the same thing."

Tsubame found herself nodding along. In ten days, Fon had turned her from sorta-civilian to sorta-assassin. Now, in five days, all she had to was complete the transition into full-fledged hitman. Piece of cake.

"Is shishou in town?" she asked, somewhat more awake now. "He said he has a lot more to teach me."

The way all three of them were suddenly incapable of looking her in the eye set her on edge. Tsubame straightened. "What is it?" she said harshly.

"Tsubame…" Tsuna ran his hands over his face. "There's something called the Non-Triniotto developed by the Millefiore. It's like an atmospheric poison that damages the bodies of the Arcobaleno. Reborn and Lal Milch are the last two Arcobaleno left."

Astonishment rippled through her. Her lips parted as she stared at Tsuna, then the others, hoping they'd break into smiles and say, "Just kidding! He's on his way here now." Then reality sunk in like chunks of ice sliding into her stomach. She felt cold all over, but through the iciness, one thought blazed through.

Her chapped lips cracked as she asked, "Who else?"

Her parents. Yamamoto's dad. Presumably Tsuna's folks. Even Haru's parents weren't spared. For some reason, it was the last one that snapped Tsubame out of the depression she was falling into. They were arguably the most innocent of the lot, because there was no way Haru was a soldier like the rest of them were. There was no point in murdering them – it was a senseless slaughter, a low blow meant to demoralise instead of provoke them. It was a shame Tsubame never played by anyone else's rules.

When she exhaled, all the tension seemed to drain from her body, leaving her with an odd sense of calm. "Let's do it," she said to the air. "Let's destroy the Millefiore."

Right then and there, Tsubame made a promise to herself. She was going to tear the Millefiore down, brick by brick if she had to.

* * *

Tsubame was discharged the next day with a warning to keep the activity light; she was still banged up pretty bad. Kyoko was great, but she wasn't a goddess, and though Tsubame wasn't in danger of dying anytime soon, it didn't make her chest wound any less painful. It smarted, it burned, _and_ it itched. It was going to leave one nasty scar, that was for sure.

She protested immediately.

"The siege is in five days," she said, frowning. "I need all the training I can get."

Ryohei flicked non-existent lint off his black blazer. "Who says you're coming with?"

She gaped so widely her jaw almost touched the ground. "You're joking, right? I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"Prove your resolve, then." Ryohei held out his fist towards her. On one of his fingers had a ring with a yellow rock that was as big as a bottle cap. It stood out against the white bandages wrapped around his hand like the sun amidst a cloudy sky. "Light a fire with your ring."

Tsubame tapped a finger against the shield of her Wind ring. "And how do I do that?"

Ryohei ran a hand through his hair, which was a few inches longer than his past self's hairdo and _much_ more adorable. "There's an extremely long-winded explanation full of technicalities that I never bothered paying attention to. If you wanna hear that, you gotta ask Kusakabe."

Tsubame's back slammed into the upraised gurney as she recoiled in shock. "Kusakabe's here?" she asked, ignoring the tautness of her stomach. Man, that scar itched. "He's involved with the mafia?"

"Of course. He's Hibari's right-hand man."

 _So weird._ Tsubame shook her head. "So what's with the rings? How do I light it up?"

"Basically, you have to concentrate extremely hard on what you want to achieve. The Dying Will flame is a physical embodiment of your determination to do something. The more you activate it, the easier it becomes. Calling up my flames is like second nature to me now."

"Oh," she murmured, underwhelmed. "That sounds easy."

Ryohei barked out a laugh. "That's what I thought at first. Try it. You'll see that it's harder than it sounds."

Lifting her hand off her lap, Tsubame stared at her grey ring. It looked exactly like the others', except for the symbol on the middle. It changed depending on the element, and hers had a looped line representing a gust of air, underpinned by the tiny leaf carved into it. It was the cutest and thus the best ring from the set.

 _My resolve, huh?_ That was simple. Right now, all she wanted to do was avenge those wronged by the Millefiore and, by doing so, protect her Family from them.

To Ryohei's amazement (but not hers), wispy silver flames cloaked themselves around her ring.

"Extreme!" declared Ryohei. "You got it the fastest out of all of us!"

"Why the surprise?" she wondered, loosening her hold on her resolve and letting the flame flicker out of existence. "Didn't my future self get it this fast?"

"Well…" Ryohei scratched around the bandage stuck on his nose. Privately, she wondered how pale that small rectangle of skin was after all this time. "You were kinda out of it sometimes."

Tsubame began to open her mouth before promptly closing it again. The less she knew about her personal future, the better.

"Since you use mid- to close-range weapons like Hibari, he should be the one to teach you," announced Ryohei with a clap of his hands.

"Hibari?" Tsubame coughed to hide the weird squeak in her voice. "No, no, no. Anyone but Hibari." She paused. "Anyone but Hibari and Reborn."

Ryohei appeared baffled. "Why not?"

"I…have my reasons," she mumbled, fidgeting with the jacket future Kyoko had changed her into. The kimono top Fon had given her sat on the table beside her, its beautiful embroidery disturbed by the vicious tear cutting right through the middle of it.

 _Shishou…_ Tsubame pressed her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them again, her ring was ablaze with her Dying Will.

"Fine," she said. "Take me to Hibari."

In her spare time, Tsubame often wondered what Hibari's living arrangements were like. (Who didn't, right?) At first, she pictured a decrepit castle on the top of a hill overlooking the town. It was always night time whenever the scene came to mind, the spindly brick towers surrounded by unusually large bats. Considering Hibari's appearance, stilted personality and weird catchphrase, she thought a gothic setting was only apt.

The traditional Japanese layout was also nice. Tsubame felt like she was thrust a hundred years into the past as she shuffled through the polished hallways. Shogi screens, hardwood floors, tatami mats – even calligraphy framed on the wall. Hibari had it all down pat.

Technically, it wasn't his home; it was just a part of the hideout that was cut off from the heart of the base. Hibari's disdain for crowds truly knew no bounds.

 _Then again,_ Tsubame thought to herself as she glanced outside the room, _I can see why he'd prefer this._ Although they were still underground, Hibari had the external area designed as though it was the actual outdoors. Tsubame had spent the walk to his part of the base gawking at the realistic simulation. The sun looked like it was beginning to set, neither high nor low in the sky. The lighting was suitably golden against the rock pool and shrubbery; if Tsubame closed her eyes and concentrated, she could probably delude herself into believing that she was truly outside enjoying her favourite time of day, and not stuck several metres below ground level as a safety precaution against a power-hungry Mafioso.

But that way lay madness. Besides, she knew better than to keep her eyes off of Hibari for too long. He was like an irate tiger, always ready to pounce. In fact, during her early days as a DC prefect wannabe, she frequently went long moments without even blinking once for fear of being on the receiving end of Hibari's annoying tonfa.

"What are you thinking?" It was something Hibari asked surprisingly often, considering the air of superiority and reticent demeanour he seemed to give off. It was a question he directed at her whenever her expression grew vividly obvious – enough so that it piqued his curiosity. It was somewhat comforting to know that ten years hadn't changed Hibari too much.

She told him as much, the small smile on her lips expanding when Hibari merely quirked an eyebrow in response. It was strangely expressive of him, considering how his teenage self preferred to stick to the occasional twitch of his lips or his brow.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ryohei and Kusakabe exchange a look above her head. Compared to them, she couldn't help but feel underdressed in her hoodie and shorts. They both had suits on—Kusakabe a generic black-and-white one while Ryohei's dress shirt was amber—and Hibari himself had a black yukata with dark purple undertones. Tsubame struggled not to stare at the v-neck of his robe, which dipped low enough to reveal at least a palm's worth of pale skin.

 _I guess future Hibari's a lowkey exhibitionist,_ she thought, wiggling her toes to keep her legs from falling asleep in the kneel-like position she was sitting in. She and Ryohei had been here for a good ten minutes now. Ryohei and Kusakabe had described her predicament to Hibari, keeping their speech short and to the point with a notable emphasis on her dire need to be trained. The explanation had taken maybe all of one minute; now they were just waiting on Hibari's response. Which was a long time coming, apparently.

He took one last sip of his tea. "Fine," he finally said. Everyone else sagged with relief. "But you," he continued, glancing sharply at Ryohei, "need to leave. This place isn't built for more than three people."

Tsubame's eyes darted around the room. It could've easily held at least twenty people, and she hadn't even seen the rest of his residence yet.

Ryohei knew not to push their luck, however. Other than a muttered insult, he got up and left – but not without clapping Tsubame on the back with enough force to make her wince. She smiled through the pain and waved goodbye before turning back to Hibari. She caught him staring at her and, unlike most people, continued to do so without a modicum of shame. If anything, _she_ was the one feeling embarrassed.

Bastard.

"Are you going to teach me how to use box weapons?"

"No," he said, forcing her train of thought to a sudden stop. "Your physical prowess is severely lacking, even without your wound. You'll be working on that today, and possibly tomorrow."

Tsubame bit her lip to keep her complaints from spewing forth from her mouth like projectile vomit. She had _just_ completed a week-long training program that primarily focused on her speed and flexibility. Wouldn't it have been more efficiently—in terms of time and effort—if she learnt how to fight using this era's weaponry?

Whining would get her nowhere, though, not with Hibari. "Okay…Hibari." Her teeth clicked together as she closed her mouth before she could utter the honorific Tsuna was so fond of using. She couldn't fall back on her usual nomenclature 'senpai', because it was all kinds of wrong. Kyoya was way too intimate (she avoided gazing at Kusakabe) so Hibari would have to do.

Privately, she wondered what she called him in the future. And what he called her.

 _Irrelevant,_ she scolded herself as she followed Hibari out the room and onto the _engawa._ To her bafflement—and mild consternation—he began by having her go through a set of rudimentary exercises. She completed sets of push-ups, sit-ups and chin-ups (courtesy of the sturdiest tree in his fake yard), moving on from each when it became clear that she could push herself no longer. It was startlingly similar to the exercises Fon had made her do not two weeks ago, and Tsubame had to bat away a stab of pain at the thought as she struggled to look Hibari in the eyes – eyes that were so like her dead _shishou_ 's.

Hibari neither praised nor insulted her efforts. Instead, he simply said, "Can you do a handstand?"

"I've…never really tried," she replied cautiously.

He turned back to the room with a dramatic sweep of his yukata. "Tetsu," he called over his shoulder, and Tsubame almost screamed when she realised he was talking to Kusakabe. "Teach her."

"Yes, Kyo-san," Kusakabe answered loyally.

Tsubame had about a million questions she wanted to ask, but she had better things to do – like learn how to maintain a handstand, apparently. Actually forming one was easier than she had thought, but keeping the position for more than twenty seconds more than made up for its lack of difficulty. She spent the rest of the day building up strength in her arms, and by the time the artificial moon rose in Hibari's fake sky, she could hold it for a minute.

"The others should be having dinner right about now," declared Kusakabe with a glance at his watch. "I'll take you back down."

"You sure?" she asked, massaging her stinging arms. "I can probably find my own way back."

He smiled, looking all too much like his teenage self. "It's fine. I have to pick up Kyo-san's share anyway."

There it was again – that affectionate title. It took Tsubame several moments to build up enough courage to ask, "Why do you call him that?"

This time, Kusakabe's smile was wry. "When you save each other from as many life-and-death circumstances as we have, you've kind of gotten over formalities by that point."

It made sense, she supposed. Then again, she and teenage Hibari had been in similar situations, and the tension between them was still as stilted as ever. Just how many years would it take before their relationship resembled that of future Hibari's and Kusakabe's?

(Aeons, probably.)

After a noisy dinner and a quiet bath, Tsubame was feeling well-rested enough to try her hand at – well, at handstands. It took her a while to get into the zone again, but when she did, she accomplished it much more easily she had before her break.

Now for the next part. Prior to dinner, Kusakabe had parted ways with her by assigning her some homework. Tsubame was to attempt _walking_ on her hands, like some sort of acrobat. Hibari was expecting her to travel ten metres using her hands alone before tomorrow morning; if she couldn't complete even that, then she wasn't worth his time.

Kusakabe hadn't said this, of course, but Tsubame had to learnt to read between the lines when it came to the demon prefect of Nami Middle. She was probably a little naïve to have expected him to change that part of him after all this time.

Anyway, that was how Gokudera ran into her.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, somehow sounding angry even through his bemusement.

"Training," she said curtly. Unfortunately, the lapse in concentration made her arms give out from beneath her, and it was only Gokudera's quick reflexes that saved him from a foot to the face. (Shame, that.)

He scowled, as though well aware of the impolite thoughts crossing her mind. "How on earth is _that_ considered 'training'?" he jeered.

 _I wonder the same thing._ She shrugged. "Ask Hibari."

"I'm good."

Wise move.

There was a beat of silence as they both contemplated on how to progress. Tsubame shuffled uncomfortably. To make small talk or to resume training – that was the question. Normally, she wouldn't have felt any of this urgency to make nice. But ever since they had arrived to the future, they had been under constant pressure as the threat of death loomed over them and everyone they cared for. For all she knew, these small moments with Gokudera would be their last.

Before they could make a move, their decision was made for them by Bianchi. "Hayato," she said, a strange note to her voice. "There you are. Come with me – I need to tell you something."

Tsubame glanced at him, curiosity in her eyes, but Gokudera merely shrugged indifferently. He seemed to know as little as her regarding Bianchi's—future Bianchi's—odd behaviour.

Rolling her eyes, Tsubame assumed a handstand and returned the way she came.

She didn't get much sleep that night.

* * *

 **A/N:** Things are getting interesting! Sorry for the delayed update.


	30. Of Rings and Boxes

XXX

 _Of Rings and Boxes_

The next day, she and the guys were gathered into a cavernous metal room after a heart-warming breakfast made by all the teens except for herself and Gokudera; her reason being she was still recovering from her chest wound, and Gokudera because he was an absolutely dismal cook.

Lal Mirch was already there when they stumbled in, gawking at the sheer size of the room. Reborn had explained on the way there that it was designed as an all-purpose training room, and that the underground base had less generic ones on the other fifteen floors.

Lambo seemed impressed, too. "Yahoo!" he cried, rolling around on the floor. Tsubame had a sneaking suspicion that the dust bunnies he picked up only made his afro stronger. "Dahoo!"

"Lambo, don't cause fuss!" hissed I-Pin as she chased after him.

"Shut up!" yelled Gokudera, which only made the noise worse.

"Reborn," Lal Mirch murmured in a dangerous tone, "why are these brats here?"

Reborn, for his part, remained amused. "Because one of them is the Lightning Guardian."

She twitched. "The girl?"

"No."

Lal Mirch's heavy sigh conveyed what mere words couldn't. Tsubame was half-concerned the stern woman would literally kick Lambo out, but the kids saved her the trouble by initiating a game of tag that led them out of the room. Lal Mirch punched a button, closing the doors firmly behind Lambo and his wiggly cow-butt.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," she said, turning back to face them. Her eyes—although a beautiful shade of red that reminded Tsubame of fresh roses—were hooded and heavy with what could only be described as a distinct lack of emotion. "Are you sure you want to do this? This isn't your fight, after all." _Sit here and let the adults deal with things, mmkay?_

Tsuna looked at Yamamoto, then Gokudera, before his eyes landed on her and zeroed in on the bandages peeking out from beneath her shirt. He met Lal Mirch's steady stare head-on. "We're sure," he said firmly.

Lal Mirch pursed her lips. "Fine," she acquiesced. "But don't let me ever hear you say, 'I can't'. Got it?"

They nodded. The next fifteen minutes were spent on a crash course about the weapons of choice in this era: rings and boxes. While rings were used to open up boxes, they could also serve as transmitters for the flames that were used as ammunition for specialised weapons. Like Lal Mirch's arm guard.

"Watch closely," instructed Reborn.

Lal Mirch slipped the goggles resting on her forehead so that they covered her eyes. Four rings decorated her right hand, all designed differently. The one that stuck out the most was the ring on her middle finger, which had a large rectangular stone on it the same colour as Mist flames. As expected, when she channelled her wave energy to her fingertips, the gaudy ring lit up with Mist flames.

She placed her hand over her arm weapon, feeding the flames into it, and swung it towards the faraway fall. Four Mist-coloured streams shot out of the guard, slamming into the wall as one and leaving a smoking crater behind as if a cannonball had been shot at it. The shockwaves that followed made the whole room tremble, and Tsubame had to steady herself before she was knocked over.

"Wow!" said Yamamoto, an awe-filled grin stretching onto his lips as he gazed at the hole in the wall.

Gokudera's reaction couldn't have been more different. "Are you trying to destroy the hideout?" he barked.

Tsubame rolled her eyes. "If the whole place can collapse from just a single blow, we wouldn't be here, would we?" Then again, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Lal Mirch didn't acknowledge any of their comments as she moved onto the boxes. She switched rings, cancelling out the Mist one in favour of Cloud. She used it to open the box, releasing a terrifying mechanical millipede into the room. It darted about the room, its head alight with Cloud flames, and Tsubame bit back a scream as one of its legs brushed the top of her head.

Gokudera sniggered; she kicked his butt.

"Tsubame," admonished Tsuna, frowning. "Don't do anything that'll agitate your wound."

"Tenth," choked out a betrayed Gokudera.

She kicked him in the shin this time. "I won't make any promises, Tsuna."

"Enough," commanded Lal Mirch. Tsubame fought the urge to salute her, and focused on stepping away from Gokudera instead. "Gokudera, I heard you and Sawada managed to light your rings last time. Show me."

As Gokudera struggled to light his Vongola ring, Tsubame found herself scowling. The boys had managed to defeat their enemies and protect four unconscious people—Haru, Lambo, I-Pin, and Yamamoto—without getting so much as a scratch, but she herself barely took down one guy even with Kyoko helping her. _Such bullshit,_ she thought bitterly.

"Yes!" cried Gokudera after several seconds of intense concentration. A bright red Storm flame danced on his ring. "I did it, Tenth!"

"Neat!" commented Yamamoto. "How'd you do it? Resolve into flame, right?"

Gokudera snorted. "As if you'll be able to do it, baseball idiot."

But he spoke too soon, because Yamamoto conjured a Rain flame in half the time Gokudera did. "How about you, Tsubame?" he asked brightly, ignoring Gokudera's open-mouthed gape.

Tsubame inspected her ring. To manifest a Dying Will Flame, one needed a firm resolve…Well, that was easy, wasn't it?

She bared her teeth in a grin as a silvery grey flame coated her similarly coloured ring. It flickered out of existence when Yamamoto slapped her on the back, causing pain to flare across her torso. Tsuna yelped while Gokudera yelled at Yamamoto to "be careful, idiot!"

"I'm fine," she wheezed as Yamamoto's guilt-stricken face came into view. "Really."

"Work on your focus," was all Lal Mirch said. Tsubame could practically feel the love. "What about you, Sawada?"

Tsuna held up his ring sheepishly. "I've been trying, but I can't do it at all."

He had barely finished speaking when Lal Mirch covered the distance between them in two long strides. She didn't even blink as she punched Tsuna in the face, the sheer force of which sent him skidding back. "What was my only rule, Sawada?!" she hollered, while Tsubame privately marvelled at the other woman's strength.

"S-Sorry!" squealed Tsuna, as he scrambled upright.

Lal Mirch glowered at them. "Training's over unless everyone can light a flame and"—she pulled out a box from the folds of her cloak—"get this box open within an hour. If not," she continued, tossing the thing at Yamamoto, "I go after the Millefiore alone."

Which… Okay, she wasn't calling Lal Mirch a _liar_ , per se, but she was definitely being dramatic for the sake of it here. Even if she decided to ditch her and the guys, there was no way she was going to take on the powerhouse that was the Millefiore without a single person to back her up. That was just suicide.

Tsuna frowned down at his ring before consulting his friends. "How'd you guys summon your flames?" he asked.

"I thought about what I wanted to do with my dying will," said Tsubame.

"Which is…?"

She mumbled her answer.

Tsuna's brow furrowed. "Sorry?"

Tsubame cleared her throat. "To burn the Millefiore down and salt the grounds," she grumbled, blushing lightly. Now that she said it aloud, it was sort of stupid. She stood by it, though.

"Lame," said Gokudera. He turned to Tsuna, brightening. "My resolve is the same as usual, Tenth – to serve you!"

"Lame," echoed Tsubame in a perfect replica of Gokudera's voice.

"I do _not_ sound like that!"

Yamamoto grinned, though it looked a tad sharper than usual. "I just want to get stronger."

Reborn broke away from his conversation with Lal Mirch. "Think simple, Tsuna. Don't be a hero."

"There you go reading my mind again," he sighed, but he took Reborn's words to heart all the same. He closed his eyes, his face mellowing out. When he opened them again, his expression shifted into one of grim determination, and Tsubame found herself straightening. "I want to protect everyone," he declared.

His Sky ring blazed with bright orange flames.

After that, opening the box was almost too easy. Although it remained shut when she, Gokudera, and Yamamoto tried, it exploded to pieces when Tsuna inserted his ring. Apparently, Sky flames could open _any_ box, regardless of attribution, which Tsubame thought was just plain cheating.

The light from the box weapon died down, revealing…a roughed-up pacifier? She slumped in disappointment. So much for a cool weapon.

But Lal Mirch didn't share their indifference. For the first time that morning, the mask of muted anger she adopted slipped. Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape as she stared at the dirty old pacifier. It only lasted a second before her face shut down. She snatched the faded pacifier from Tsuna's open palm. "That's enough," she said, storming towards the doors. "Training's over for today."

"That's it?" scoffed Gokudera.

Tsuna frowned after their prickly tutor. "Seems like it."

* * *

She was ambushed after lunch.

After living (mostly) alone for the past year and a half, Tsubame was kind of sick of how much curry she had eaten, but being stuck underground in constant fear of their safety meant making sacrifices. They had a greenhouse down there, though, so at least she wouldn't die from lack of veggies if the Millefiore didn't get to them first.

Since the girls made lunch, the guys had to wash up. Thanks to her wound, Tsubame was apparently exempt from doing either. Being sliced open had its perks sometimes.

Rather than sit around and watch the guys struggle to wash the dishes while Lambo weaved in and out of their legs, Tsubame and the girls headed down to the library at Haru's suggestion. It was two floors below the current one, according to the map Giannini had handed them. He was able to walk now, unlike his past self, which had relied on the UFO-like device to get him around. At least he travelled in style.

"So?" Haru asked without preamble. "How was training?"

Tsubame took a second to think about it. "Enlightening," she decided. _In more ways than one._ Her mind was full of blue – the pale blue of the batted pacifier, the striking blue of Lal Mirch's layered locks as she practically ran out of the room, the Arcobaleno's trinket in-hand.

"Kyoko-chan and I've been doing some training of our own," Hary announced proudly.

Tsubame grinned. "Really?"

"Well, it's more like studying," Kyoko admitted, blushing lightly. "We were talking with Bianchi-san, you see, and she shared some information about our future."

Bianchi, as well as Fuuta, had arrived at the base not long before Tsubame had. Unlike herself, though, they were from this time period, and while Bianchi looked almost _exactly_ the same as her twenty-year-old self, Fuuta had changed dramatically. It was weird having to crane her head to look at the brunette who, just last week, barely reached her shoulders in terms of height.

The two era-appropriate adults had spent the past few weeks collecting intel on the enemy, which they had relayed to the guys and the other adults. Since Tsubame had yet to be informed of what, exactly, they had learnt, she figured it wasn't important.

"What did you learn about your future selves?" Tsubame asked as they headed to the nearest elevator.

As it turned out, future Haru was a successful lawyer who had gotten the family out of many sticky situations that couldn't have been achieved through brute force alone. Handling the Underground was one thing, but law enforcement? The justice system was far too intricate and complex to deal with otherwise. (There was always bribery and blackmail, true, but no one could be sure there wouldn't be any rats who squealed and double-crossed them). But Haru played another role when it came to the mafia. She helped design and create costumes for disguises and battle outfits that could endure what normal clothing couldn't.

"Bianchi-san says I've saved her life on more than one occasion," Haru informed her sombrely.

Tsubame was wracking her mind for something to say when a glimmer of silver caught her eye. She stared at the ring on Kyoko's hand. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked, stopping short.

"Oh, this?" Kyoko lifted the cross-shaped ring up to eye-level. "My future self dropped this before we swapped places."

"I think it's cute, hahi!" declared Haru. "I'm kinda jealous, actually…"

"It's not just a fashion statement, though," said Kyoko, and to Tsubame's escalating surprise, Sun flames exploded from the cross. It flickered out before long, however. Kyoko tucked her hands behind her back, but didn't avert her gaze from Tsubame's wide-eyed expression. "Haru-chan and I've decided to help in any way we can, Tsubame-chan. If that means just cooking and cleaning and providing moral support, then that's okay, but we know that isn't enough. If we can do even half of what our future selves could, then we'd be happy."

"I see Bianchi's told you more than I realised," she said faintly.

Kyoko smiled. "It was actually Fuuta-kun who spilled the beans. Apparently, we can be really scary when we want to be. Or we will be." She shook her head. Time travel made grammar, among other things, rather perplexing.

"I don't doubt it," she muttered as they reached their floor. There was something unsettling about the thought of seeing Kyoko and Haru angry. It was like spotting Gokudera genuinely happy, or an affectionate Hibari. It was just…wrong.

The elevator _dinged_ as they reached the floor. It opened directly into the expansive library, and the amount of books at their disposal had Tsubame's eyebrows disappearing into her bangs. Haru was practically drooling.

Kyoko clapped her hands together, a bright but determined smile on her lips. "Let's get started."

* * *

The next day was far more hectic than any of them could've imagined.

It began with Lambo's escape. One of the many cables that contributed to the maintenance of the base had gotten loose, and while Fuuta and Giannini worked on fixing it, Lambo had escaped through one of the unlocked doors. It took them hours to figure out he was missing, and that was only because it was lunchtime.

As irritated as she was by his reckless behaviour, Tsubame could sympathise with the six-year-old; she missed being outside too. So she volunteered to go after him.

But Reborn shook his head. "Namimori's crawling with Millefiore," he said. "And they know what all of us look like. What will you do when you run into one of them?"

"I'll go," Tsuna said as he rose from the dining table. It made sense, since he already had experience not only fighting but beating one of the Millefiore, and besides, Lambo (arguably) liked Tsuna the best.

"Not alone," decided Lal. "Let's go now before it's too late."

Gokudera hastened to get out of his chair. "I'll come too, Tenth. If we find any of those Millefiore bastards, I'll blow them to bits with my newly modified box weapon."

"Three's a crowd," chirped Reborn just as an alarm went off. "Looks like you'll have something else to practise using your box weapon against."

The TV in the dining area buzzed to life. Giannini's shiny face was right up against the camera as he furiously typed away on the massive computer in the transmissions room. "We've caught an emergency signal!" he told them frantically. "It's an S.O.S. from an ally." He had to yell over the blaring of the alarm, which was much louder considering it was coming from the same room he was in. Abruptly, it died down from a whine to a constant beep. "The location's been identified – I'll put it on the monitor."

The screen went black for half a second, and then Giannini's sweaty features was replaced by a shot of a bright blue sky foregrounded by a small yellow bird hurriedly flying past several buildings.

Tsuna gasped. "That's Hibari-san's bird."

"Hibird," Haru murmured automatically.

Tsubame's stomach did a backflip. There was no way Hibari could be in trouble. But then, she thought Fon was invincible and now—

"Ah!" yelped Giannini as the image dropped. "The signal's weakening. I'll pull up the radar…" But he had barely switched displays when the arrow indicative of Hibird's tracker disappeared.

"Is there anything at the location where the signal dropped?" demanded Reborn.

"A temple," replied Giannini, reappearing on the screen. "Namimori temple, to be precise. It might just be the batteries that died, but…"

"It might be a trap," Bianchi said, deadpan. "Have you tried contacting Hibari?"

Giannini shook his head, dejected. "No one's picking up. Moreover, the radar is picking up at least a dozen rings, including an extremely powerful one. I'm afraid that it's a captain-class member of the Millefiore."

"Must be Gamma." When Lal received more than a few confused looks, she continued, "He's one of the two captains who's in charge of Japan. The two members you and Gokudera fought, Sawada, were from his squad."

"He's a dangerous man," Fuuta said, rubbing his face. First Lambo disappearing, now this. "He's crushed more organisations than you can count using your fingers alone."

But either those organisations were pathetically weak, or the situation was well worth the risk, because Yamamoto and Gokudera were sent to check things out. Tsuna and Lal headed out as planned, leaving Tsubame to freak out with Haru and Kyoko.

Or so she thought.

Barely thirty minutes had gone by before they received another signal on their radar – it was coming from Kokuyo Land.

 _Chrome._ This time she had to go.

It wasn't like they had any other choice. Like with Hibird, there was the large chance that this was a trap that could end badly for them, but it was a risk they were willing to take. Besides, it wasn't like Tsubame was going alone – she had Bianchi with her. The Poison Scorpion was already a force to reckon with back in her time; she could only wonder how powerful she was now.

"We'll take Door 8," said Bianchi, leading the way through the base. "It opens up directly into Kokuyo Land."

Tsubame nodded as they jogged to the correct entrance. By the time they got there, a light sheen of sweat was pooling on her back, and her breath was growing somewhat laboured. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bianchi shoot her a calculative look. Tsubame ignored it as they waited for Fuuta to open the doors back in the control room. She also ignored the way her chest was smarting.

Bianchi wasn't exaggerating when she said the doors were situated in the middle of Kokuyo Land. They found themselves in the basement of the plaza where the crux of the battle between Mukuro and Tsuna had taken place not too long ago. _Well,_ thought Tsubame as they snuck up the stairs, _I guess technically, that was years ago._

Despite the fact that almost a decade had passed since Tsubame had set foot in Kokuyo Centre, the place literally had not changed. No, wait, that wasn't exactly true. It had changed – for the worse. It was difficult to tell in the dim lighting, but Tsubame was pretty sure the place was even dingier than before. She grimaced.

"Can you sense presences yet?" Bianchi asked.

Tsubame nodded. "I was taught how by- by Fon."

There was a flash of pity in Bianchi's lavender eyes, but it disappeared as she pulled herself up through a hole in the ceiling with minimal effort. "So you've noticed that Glo Xinia is roughly two floors above us," she continued, not a hair out of place.

In other words, she had to prepare herself. Tsubame's severe expression shifted into a chagrined one as Bianchi helped her up the hole, smirking slightly all the while. "We'll just blame your wound," she teased, and Tsubame's blush darkened.

What humour they managed to scrounge up was thrown away completely when the ceiling shook dangerously. Dirt and dust rained on them as they ran towards and up the closest staircase, adrenaline rushing through their bodies as the sounds of battle continued to ring clear. As they neared its source, Tsubame readied herself for the worst sight imaginable. Instead, what she saw made her stumble in shock.

Not only was Chrome there, but so was Ken, Chikusa and yes, even Mukuro. The thing was, though, they all looked the same as they had back in the past. Either they had _all_ taken a trip through time, or…

"Real illusions?!" spat a figured dressed in the militaristic uniform the White Spell faction favoured. "Impossible!"

Tsubame had to agree with him – or her. The figure was pretty androgynous, and the terrible hairdo wasn't making things any easier. The term 'real illusions' was an oxymoron in and of itself; she could barely wrap her mind around it, let alone entertain its concept.

But there was no denying how solid they seemed. Ken and Chikusa even bantered with each other a little, just as they had in the past. Tsubame tried focusing her mind's eye, drawing her Wind flames like Fon had instructed her to, but she still couldn't spot a chink in Chrome's seemingly flawless work.

"He's distracted," Bianchi murmured, edging out of the shadows cast by the doorway. "Let's go."

Tsubame didn't need to be told twice. Almost simultaneously, she and Bianchi lit their rings. The hallway brightened with Wind and Storm flames; the latter multiplied as two scorpions emerged from Bianchi's boxes. They were dark purple, save for their red stingers and the flames dancing on the tips of their legs. She did her best to refrain from gagging as she watched the arachnids scuttle towards the giant _fucking_ squid owned by the enemy.

The monster, as commanded by its owner, used its thick tentacles to try to split the illusions apart. Since they were each covered by a torrent of water, Tsubame figured getting hit by one of them would feel like having a giant drill tear you apart. Not a pleasant way to go.

She half-expected the tentacles to pass right through the illusions, but they were more real than fake, and Ken—while in his Kong Channel form—stopped three in one go. Chikusa jumped high in the sky and unleashed the needles set in his yo-yos of doom, while Mukuro went low and swiped at him with his trident.

But even 'real' illusions had their limitations. It seemed as though they couldn't harm people directly, so Chrome used Mukuro's form as a distraction while she threw a rock right into the enemy's face. It would've hit them squarely in the eye were it not for their glasses, and Tsubame used that as an opportunity to dash into the room.

She had yet to master the art of running soundlessly, but the whirring of the torrential tentacles and the screeches of the monster's mouthy owner was enough to drown everything else out. Enraged, the enemy focused their anger on Chrome, sending three more tentacles her way. She did her best to dodge, but her illusions wavered at her lack of attention.

"Ha!" barked the man with the bob-cut. Now that Tsubame was closer, she could actually hear him – and yeah, he sounded like a man in more ways than one. "Illusions are still illusions, real or not. How embarrassing," he continued, leering at Chrome's crouched form, one of her sleeves torn off from where the tentacle grazed her.

Tsubame scowled, her fists clenched around her folded fans. _What a creep,_ she thought as she anxiously awaited an opening.

But then things got even creepier.

"Illusions…or real illusions." It was Mukuro, but at the same time, it wasn't. While it was definitely his voice she was hearing, he—or, well, his illusion—hadn't opened his mouth. "Hidden in an illusion is the real illusion. From an illusion will sprout another illusion. Hidden in truths lie lies, hidden in lies hides the truth."

About a million thoughts ran through Tsubame's head, with most of the leaning towards, _God, I forgot how much I hate Mukuro._ But if she was irritated, then the enemy was in complete disarray. He kept looking around wildly, as if trying to locate the source of the (annoying) voice, and Tsubame saw her chance – as did everyone else, apparently.

Mukuro made a run for it, neatly weaving through the tentacles desperately attempting to protect its owner, while Bianchi's scorpions finally crawled through an opening and leapt onto the Millefiore member. He couldn't exactly get his monster to slap it away, not unless he wanted to go flying along with the arachnids, so he tried swiping at them himself. With both enemies distracted, it was almost no problem for Tsubame to whip open her fans and send several knives shooting towards her target. And, well, if the Wind flames covering her blades fizzled out before they hit, who was there to know?

The Millefiore agent went down like a fallen tree. Chrome followed, exhausted. She barely remained upright, her trident keeping her up as she caught her breath. The squid monster dispersed into a ball of Rain flames which shot back into its box somewhere on the dying man's person. Bianchi's box animals could've probably dealt the final blow, but she didn't seem to think it was worth the effort. Tsubame debated collecting her knives, but ultimately decided it was best to steer clear of the corpse and its pool of blood. Instead, she went to Chrome.

"Hey," she said softly, kneeling down to her friend's level. "You okay?"

Chrome inhaled a shuddering breath before nodding wordlessly.

"Bet it's nice to see a familiar face that isn't a product of your flames, huh?"

"Make that two," chimed in Bianchi as she effortlessly picked Chrome up. "C'mon. We've got to get going before any back-up comes."

She slung one of Chrome's arms around her shoulders, and Tsubame hastily did the same with the other, but it quickly became pointless. Feeling safe at last, Chrome's defences came down – she nodded off.

"I'll carry her," offered Bianchi, repositioning Chrome's limp body so that she was piggy-backing her instead. Tsubame dutifully walked behind her, reading to catch their unconscious friend at a moment's notice.

"You did well," Bianchi informed her as they made their way back. "It was smart, but the execution was somewhat flat."

Tsubame pursed her lips together. "It was my first time trying that," she confessed. "We barely got through box-opening this morning before the alarms went off." Speaking of…

"Kyoko probably has it," Tsubame thought aloud. "I'll ask her when we get back."

As it turned out, Kyoko did not have it – a different kind of Kyo-san did.

They were the second group to return, right after Gokudera and Yamamoto. However, the boys were definitely worse for wear. Like Chrome, they were comatose. They were also bandaged heavily, and the Sasagawa siblings were in the midst of doing the same for their female Mist Guardian. Before they got started, though, Tsubame managed to squeeze out some information regarding her future self's backpack.

"I haven't seen it since I arrived, Tsubame-chan," Kyoko informed her with a frown. That was as much as Tsubame got from her before she was ushered out of the infirmary, clearly well and able.

After poking around for a bit, Tsubame narrowed down her list of suspects to Kusakabe and Hibari. As she made her way to their part of the base, she ran through possible reasons for their theft. Were there time-sensitive materials inside that backpack that weren't meant for the eyes of anyone fifteen and under? Were they keeping it safe for her?

"Oh, that?" Kusakabe said as he met her by the entrance. "Kyo-san just wanted to hold onto it so he could show you how to use the boxes himself."

That…certainly hadn't been on her mental list. Bemused but oddly touched, Tsubame traded her shoes for sandals and slipped into the greeting room. They were in the exact same room, in the exact same position as approximately twenty-four hours ago. There was one stark difference, however.

 _Holy shit,_ thought Tsubame, eyes wide. _Why is Hibari in a suit?_

Funnily enough, it had the same colour palette as his yukata. What was less amusing was how _good_ he looked in it. Tsubame wasn't sure if it was the suit, or the way his fully mature body filled it out, but she had never realised how handsome Hibari could be in the right circumstances.

"Report," Hibari practically barked, and just like that, whatever attraction she felt went flying out the window.

"Bianchi-san and I reached Chrome just as the battle between her and the Millefiore member was heating up. She used real(?) illusions to harass him into lowering his guard, creating an opening wide enough for Bianchi-san's scorpions to attack as well as for my knives to hit."

Hibari fixed his blank gaze on her. "Did you strike the final blow?"

"No. We left him to bleed out."

"Hm." Strange how such a simple phrase could convey such condescension. "You are naïve to underestimate the durability of cretins such as Glo Xinia. Do not make the same mistake twice." Hibari turned to Kusakabe, not giving her time to retort. "His ring and boxes?"

"According to the Poison Scorpion, Glo Xinia's Mare ring was left on his person to deter any reconnaissance missions on the Millefiore's part," Kusakabe announced formally. "Both boxes were reclaimed by her. I have the main weapon on my person, but the sub-box is with Chrome Dokuro. It is under her control now."

"Speaking of which," interjected Tsubame, "can I have my box now?" Practically everyone else did.

"That depends," said Hibari. "Have you completed yesterday's objectives?"

Sighing, Tsubame got up from her seated position and performed a handstand then and there. She quickly walked the length of the tatami floor back and forth before righting herself seamlessly. "Happy?" she drawled in between deep breaths.

Since it would've been out of character for Hibari to declare "I'm never happy", he merely hummed lightly. "Fine," he said, as if her request was a complete and utter burden for him. "Tetsu?"

"Yes, Kyo-san." As though rehearsed, Kusakabe withdrew a single box weapon from the pocket of his blazer. It was, unsurprisingly, silver with grey borders and accents. It turned out Wind users received the most boring prizes by default.

Tsubame took a step forward towards Kusakabe, but he had already passed her box weapon to Hibari. She shot him a look of betrayal; he frowned in apology.

"It seems you had difficulty maintaining your flames earlier today," commented Hibari as he placed her box on the table. "Why?"

"Uh, because no one's told me _how_?" she snapped.

Hibari closed his eyes briefly, as though vexed by her response. "It is because your resolve wasn't strong enough."

Tsubame pressed pause on her irritation to swallow his words. When she flung her knives at Glo Xinia, she had done so safe in the knowledge that she'd hit her mark, and even if she didn't, her comrades would. She hadn't taken it seriously enough, and in another instance, such indolence would cost her.

"I see," she murmured.

Hibari surveyed her for a moment before wordlessly nodding at the box. Brightening, Tsubame grabbed her weapon with the eagerness of a child come Christmas morning. "Can I open it?" she asked Hibari. She didn't want to accidentally unleash an elephant in the room or anything.

He huffed, amused, and Tsubame took that as a yes. Gathering her resolve, she channelled into her ring what she believed was an appropriate amount of Wind flames. Before she could let her apprehension overcome her, Tsubame crammed the crest of her ring into the box long enough for it to light up with the power of her wave energy.

The box flew open as a ball of light popped out. Tsubame blinked, and suddenly there was a small, sparrow-like bird perched on the table. Everything but its face, chest, wings and tail was black; the rest of its body was a dull grey.

"A hooded pitohui," began Hibari. "A social bird whose entire body is toxic, especially its feathers."

"Can I touch it?"

There was that snort of laughter again. Tsubame would've shot him an offended look in response, but she was too busy marvelling at her feathery little friend. "It is only harmful during combat," he assured her.

Giddy, she offered the bird a finger. A grin bloomed on Tsubame's lips as her box animal hopped onto it without reserve. She stroked its back; it chirped contentedly and leaned into her touch.

"What's its name?" she asked almost breathlessly.

"You called it Momo."

Tsubame halted in her ministrations; her bird squawked impatiently. "Momo as in peach?" She could hear Kusakabe guffawing from his side of the room.

"The very same."

"Huh…" She glanced back at her pitohui. "Nice to meet you, Momo."

"Wait 'til you see its powers," said Kusakabe, grinning.

"It's not peach-related, is it?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Eager to hear your thoughts!


	31. Of Strife and Strikes

XXXI

 _Of Strife and Strikes_

"I'll destroy the Vongola!"

Tsuna cringed so violently, the tepid bathwater rippled. It was the end of day three of five, and today's training session had been the worst one yet. Adult Hibari himself had taken on the task of whipping Tsuna into shape, which meant both his mind and body had been driven above and beyond the brink of exhaustion. The physical torture he could take—wave energy and Dying Will flames were incredibly invigorating—but that half-hour Tsuna spent in Hibari's hedgehog's needle sphere had been absolute hell.

It had all been a test, implemented by Hibari as well as the past bosses of Vongola themselves. Tsuna supposed he should consider himself lucky, meeting those legends if only briefly, but he'd be feeling a lot more grateful if they hadn't actively tormented him for the sake of provoking a response.

And the one he'd given them? Not exactly the best of answers. But he'd been honest, and even now he didn't regret it. No matter what, if Tsuna was asked to commit the same felonies and evils past members had, he would always choose to burn down Vongola and rebuild it from scratch instead.

(Maybe Tsubame was onto something. Or maybe he was hanging around her too often…)

"No-Good Tsuna, if you keep simmering in there, you'll become a prune."

It was a testament to his fatigue that Tsuna didn't even bother jumping in surprise. "Hibari-san's already beaten black and blue enough as it is," he mumbled into the milky water.

That didn't stop Reborn from kicking him in the head. "Stop wallowing and start checking up on your guardians," he commanded.

Privately, Tsuna thought that was good advice, but since Reborn was already settling into the humongous bathtub, the brunette was willing to bet that his recommendation was given as a means to hog the entire room to himself.

"Sly baby," he grumbled, shuffling over to the exit.

"What was that?"

Eep! "Nothing!"

"Thought so," Reborn responded smugly.

Despite the less than altruistic intentions of his hitman-slash-tutor, Tsuna heeded his words and sought out his friends. From his present position, Yamamoto's location was the closest, so Tsuna rode the elevator several floors down to the dojo. It bore a striking resemblance to the one in Namimori's central business district – so much so that, if Tsuna deluded himself, he could almost pretend he was back in his time period, walking past the dojo while on his way to buy some groceries.

Soft grunts accompanied by the _swish_ of steel slicing through air broke Tsuna out of his reverie. Carefully, so as not to disturb Yamamoto's training, Tsuna slid open one of the shoji screens and peered into the room.

Yamamoto was just wrapping up his katas, and assumed a stance Tsuna had come to identify as the beginning of one of the many Shigure no Shouen Style techniques. His Rain guardian's form was illuminated only by the blue flames sheathing his katana. It was surprisingly bright and clear—like spring water—and easily allowed him to spot the deadly serious expression on the normally carefree boy's face.

 _He must still be smarting from his loss,_ Tsuna deduced sombrely. It had been over a day since his and Gokudera's match against Gamma, and while Kyoko and her brother had done their best to patch up his friends' broken bodies, mental wounds were tougher to deal with.

According to Hibari, Yamamoto and Gokudera had been severely outclassed and outmatched. The worst thing was, things would have proceeded a lot more smoothly if the cat-and-dog duo hadn't tried to one-up each other so much. Yamamoto had been the one to admit as much, but if Tsuna knew them as well as he thought he did, he was quite certain that most of the fault laid on Gokudera's shoulders.

Normally, Gokudera's desperate desire to prove himself was tolerable, and even endearing at times. However, after arriving in the future, after learning that he had failed to uphold his self-appointed task of protecting Tsuna as his right-hand man, he had become even more obsessed with validating himself than before. It was worrying on more levels than one.

With that thought in mind, Tsuna left the dojo in search for Gokudera. He was training with Bianchi, or at least he was supposed to be.

"Hayato isn't here," Bianchi said shortly upon Tsuna's arrival. "He flaked out."

Tsuna flinched. The raid was in two days' time! "Do you know where he could've gone?" he asked imploringly.

She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." After all, despite being underground, the base was a huge place.

Tsuna heaved a sigh. "Thanks anyway."

That seemed to soften her a little, for Bianchi went out of the way to tell him where he could find Tsubame. She was on the next floor over in a training centre that resembled Gokudera's. Instead of a desert-like terrain, however, Tsubame's simulation was that of a wooded area.

Kusakabe barely glanced over his shoulder as the automatic doors slid open for Tsuna. "Hey," he said warmly. "Come to watch?"

Smiling, Tsuna nodded. "Sorry for the intrusion."

"Not at all. This _is_ your base," he reminded him with a soft chuckle.

Awkwardly, Tsuna followed along. "Right," he squeaked. The ring on his finger suddenly felt a lot heavier.

"Anyway," he said, hastily changing the subject, "why the forest?" He highly doubted the Millefiore base was going to be of a similar design.

"It's to build her reflexes," stated Kusakabe. He pressed a button, and a flying target shot out from one of the many hidden slots along the walls. Although she was mid-air from her leap, Tsubame hardly faltered as she waved her fan at the projectile. Several flame-coated knives struck it dead on, shattering it into multiple pieces.

Kusakabe didn't give her time to pause. Another disc was propelled her way – this time at her back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tsuna was aware that it was just a training simulation, and that there was no way Tsubame was in any actual danger, but he still couldn't help but tense up and fight the overwhelming urge to break through the protective glass separating him and Kusakabe from the field and help defend his friend.

Fortunately, Tsubame wasn't totally unguarded. A black and grey bird materialised behind her and, with a sweep of its firey wings, sent half a dozen feathers shooting towards the disc. Tsuna half-expected the feathers to act as blades themselves and splinter the disc like Tsubame's knives had, but when the feathers came into contact with the projectile, it _melted._

 _Did I just imagine that?!_ Tsuna checked one of the many screens on the side. The camera aimed at the ground confirmed that, nope, the disc had dissolved into a puddle of goo.

Kusakabe burst into deep-throated laughter at the shell-shocked expression undoubtedly pasted on Tsuna's face. "If you think that's cool, wait until you see what she can do in a few years' time."

"H-Hopefully from a distance," he mumbled. He frowned thoughtfully. "You haven't seen Gokudera-kun around, have you?"

"Not since dinner," responded Kusakabe.

"Damn. Thanks anyway."

His concern steadily piling up, Tsuna visited the infirmary next. Chrome was still comatose, recovering from the disappearance of her organ constructs due to Mukuro's defeat. She would have died were it not for Hibari's timely intervention; he had encouraged her—in his own stilted way—to stabilise herself using her Mist flames.

"Hey, Chrome," he said to her unconscious form. Although she wasn't technically awake, Tsuna knew on some level that she could still hear him. "You seem to be getting better – that's great!" Her body was covered with a thin blanket from the shoulders down, but at the very least the pallor of her face was improving.

Tsuna spent the next few moments waffling on about nothing, when suddenly the scenery around him shifted. The dull white and grey of the infirmary darked considerably as he found himself in some sort of abandoned building. Oddly enough, he didn't feel the slightest bit anxious at being displaced. Rather, he felt completely safe.

Had he accidentally fallen asleep? It _did_ sort of feel like a dream; rather than seeing everything at eye-level, it seemed as if he was watching everything from above, like a camera.

Someone was approaching. A figure emerged from the shadows, and faint surprise reverberated through Tsuna as he identified the newcomer as Chrome. She wasn't wearing her usual army green outfit, but a white one-piece he had never seen her in before. Her eyepatch was a plain white as well, unlike the black, skull-printed one she favoured in real life. It made Tsuna remember that she was just a kid—really, they are well, but Chrome was a whole year younger than them—and she had already faced death numerous times.

Chrome paused in the middle of the hallway as something silver drifted down from the ceiling. Puzzled, she opened her hands, but before she could catch it, it dissolved into tiny, dust-like pieces.

"Mukuro-sama?" she gasped.

 _Mukuro? Was that fragment part of Mukuro's spear?!_

What did that mean? Was this really just a dream, or something more?

The spear shards should have floated to the ground and been scattered by the four winds, but the laws of physics clearly didn't apply to their dreamscape. They gathered mid-air as their surroundings turned pitch black. Impossibly, they increased in size, and it soon became evident that they were turning into gears of all things. They rapidly came together to form…a white device?

"What is this?" murmured Chrome, uncertain but wary all the same.

A vital question – one Tsuna wanted the answer to as soon as possible. Naturally, that meant he only got to find out after everything was said and done.

* * *

Day four came and went with little fanfare. It was the second last day before the raid, which meant everyone was grinding away as much as they could before the pre-battle nerves could threaten to overwhelm them. Tsubame didn't know about the boys, but she was definitely feeling jittery enough to trigger an earthquake. Bianchi offered her a sip of wine to calm down, but she politely refused, turning to Chrome instead.

She kinda felt bad for using Chrome as an outlet, seeing how she couldn't respond even if she wanted to. Tsubame assuaged her guilt by reminding herself that she'd be turning to Chrome regardless if she was sentient or not. The Mist guardian was the only person Tsubame felt comfortable talking to. Haru and Kyoko were arguably her closest friends, but she didn't want to burden them with the grievous thoughts weighing on her mind. And while she could speak to those were actually implicated in the mafia business like her, she honestly didn't feel comfortable exposing such weakness to them.

The truth was, she was terrified about what was to come. The war against the Millefiore was unlike any of the fights she had been in before. With the Kokuyo Gang and the Varia, it'd been dangerous, sure, but she had always felt safe in the knowledge that she wouldn't die. Her friends would have her back, or at the very least, their tutors did. Moreover, their enemies had never really been intent on killing them.

But the raid wouldn't be composed of single, one-on-one skirmishes. Their opponents would be faceless and nameless, and wouldn't hesitate to murder them as they had done to so many of their future selves' loved ones.

At least her parents were safe. They were virtually unreachable, but unless she wanted to endanger them, it was better off that way. In regards to Chikusa – she had faith in his ability to remain alive no matter what. If he could survive Vindicare, he could outlast anything. Like a cockroach, as a matter of fact. She made sure to tell him about that the next time she saw him.

Feeling marginally better, she decided it was time to resume training. That was what her life had been composed of the past few days. Wake up, get ready, eat, train, lunch, train, dinner, bathe, and then train some more. It even ate into her sleep, though she doubted she would get any if she tried. Tsubame spent the wee hours of the day practising her aim by throwing daggers at a target, over and over again until she dozed off. On the final night, though, she actually attempted a proper night's rest. Of course, that was when she was awoken in the middle of the night.

At first, she wasn't sure what had tripped her subconscious. Curious, and not a bit apprehensive, Tsubame rolled out of bed, already fully dressed. They had been warned of the probability that the Millefiore would try to catch them unawares and strike first, and so Tsubame prepared herself accordingly.

Fuuta, Giannini, Bianchi and Reborn had joined forces to design and create flame-resistant clothing as their battle gear, saving Tsuna the embarrassment of fighting half-naked whenever he entered Hyper Dying Will mode; psychological warfare was just as powerful as the physical kind. Interestingly, the outfits they had borne was quite dissimilar to what they would actually wear on a day-to-day basis.

All of them had the same nondescript black pants, though the boys' ones looked looser than her tight, elastic-like pair. It made sense, considering how much time she was going to be spend hopping around. Yamamoto had a light pink, long-sleeve shirt that matched well with the red vest he was going to wear on top of it. Someone with a strange sense of humour gave Gokudera the direct opposite of Yamamoto's colour palette, as his top was also long-sleeved, but a cheerful blue instead. At least the button-up atop of it was black instead of a different shade of blue. Meanwhile, Tsuna—the bastard—got to wear a modified version of the white and orange jacket he brought from their time.

Personally, Tsubame liked her outfit the most. She received a silver tunic, coarse and thick in material but airy when it came to her sleeves. It was neither loose nor restricting, and was overall perfect for her fans.

Discovering the source of the cacophony was easy. All she had to do was follow the noise, really. Tsubame was irritated but unsurprised to see the boys already up and bickering. What really caught her attention was Hibari. He was in his yukata again, and was currently holding Gokudera's (adorable) box animal by the scruff of its neck.

"This cat got drunk and wandered into my abode," he informed them flatly.

Yelping, Gokudera practically flew out of his room. "I was sure to put him back in his box!" he hissed, rushing to grab his Storm cat from Hibari's grip. "What are you doing, Uri?"

Tsuna slapped a hand to his face. "You named your cat 'Melon'?"

Tsubame grimaced. "Is that why my future self named my bird Momo?"

"I should've named mine after fruit as well," Yamamoto said thoughtfully.

"Please don't," begged Tsuna.

"All of you," Hibari said severely, "be quiet before I bite you all to death." But then he cracked a wide yawn, ruining the effect. "Next time," he assured them, walking off.

"Wait a second, Hibari." Gokudera stepped forward, ignoring Uri even though it was trying his best to claw off his face. "I'll repay you for this debt."

And yeah, maybe he was being a little dramatic, but for Hibari to go out of his way to return someone's pet? That was more than Tsubame ever imagined him doing for anyone else. _Maybe he really has changed after all these years,_ she mused.

Hibari barely stopped to glance back at them. "I won't hold my breath, Gokudera Hayato."

 _Or maybe not._

"Hibari-san," Tsuna called before he could leave. "Let's all do our best together tomorrow."

"No, thanks." This time, Hibari didn't even bother turning around again. "Even if I die, I wouldn't team up with you lot – it's because I'm strong." He resumed his trek back to his part of the base. "Good night."

Tsubame couldn't help herself – she snorted. Yamamoto outright laughed.

"No matter how many years have passed, Hibari's still the same," he observed, smiling.

"Nah," dismissed Tsubame. "He's definitely different." She wasn't sure if it was her personal bias towards his future self, or if she really was that tired, but Hibari gave off the vibe that he was messing around with them for fun, rather than purposely antagonising them like his teenage self would have. He was almost _likeable_ this way. And it only took ten years, too.

"We should be getting back to sleep," Reborn reminded them as he hopped off of Tsuna's shoulder. He was in his nightclothes, allowing everyone to marvel at his fedora-less hair in all its glory.

"I'm very sorry for the disturbance," apologised Gokudera as he executed a ninety-degree bow – but only for Tsuna. He didn't even glance at the others.

"It's fine, Gokudera-kun," Tsuna hastened to assure him.

Gokudera sighed. "I couldn't control him," he said dismally, pointing at Uri. This seemed to anger the box animal, for it paused in its grooming to immediately leap for Gokudera's face.

Yamamoto watched this for a few seconds, weirdly impressed, before bidding them a good night and returning to his room. Reborn followed suit, leaving the three of them in the dim corridor.

Tsubame reached for Uri. "Gimme." Carefully, she pried the vicious feline from Gokudera's face and cuddled it like a baby. "I'll lend you guys a hand tonight; try to sleep."

"You just wanna play with him," accused Gokudera.

She simply smirked.

It was funny, the way Uri settled down the second they were out of Gokudera's line of sight. "Why do you hate your summoner so much?" she wondered aloud.

Uri peered up at her with startling attentiveness. Was it like the rest of the world – did it enjoy toying with Gokudera for the hell of it? His reactions were pretty entertaining no matter the circumstance. It was why she, Bianchi, Reborn, and even Lambo teased so often. Despite his gruff exterior, Gokudera was a genuine softie, and would accept their barbs all in good humour. Or so she hoped.

When they reached her room, Uri jumped out of Tsubame's arms and claimed the spot next to her pillow. Since the bed was a wide double, she didn't mind, easily accommodating for the demanding cat. Sleep came to her much more effortlessly that time, and soon she was dozing away.

She was up again in five hours. This time, however, the circumstances were far less light-hearted.

"Tsubame, wake up."

Eyes flying wide open, Tsubame flicked her wrist, sending a closed fan hurtling from its restraint around her forearm and into her waiting palm. Before she could unleash a curtain of knives on whoever had been touching her shoulder, though, she recognised the situation.

"Oh, Yamamoto." Tsubame lowered her fan. "What's wrong?"

Yamamoto grimaced. "It's Hibari. He's being ambushed."

" _What?_ " She kicked the blankets off of her. "Why didn't you open up with that?!"

It was a good thing she was already dressed. As Yamamoto handed her the earpiece Giannini had made for them, Tsubame popped a mint in her mouth and got up. A cursory glance told her Uri was gone, so Tsubame hastily ran after Yamamoto as he led the way.

Giannini's voice buzzed from her earpiece. "It's a surprise attack," he informed them, and Tsubame could hear him tapping furiously at his keyboard. "It appears they've gathered about two kilometres away, in a space that had been reserved for a warehouse."

"There are a lot of them, right?" Tsuna managed to yell in between pants. "Hibari-san can't handle them all by himself! We have to help!"

"No!" barked Ryohei, with a furious intensity that Tsubame flinched. "Hibari's putting his life on the line for us – we can't just ignore that!"

"While Hibari's keeping them occupied, Tsuna, you guys need to escape and go through with the raid," cautioned Reborn.

To add to the increasing sense of urgency, Giannini declared, "Boss! Right now, you can take hatch F and follow route B to cut straight to the enemy's base. The coast is clear!"

In the time it took for Tsuna to make a decision, she and Yamamoto had reached the rest of the party, which also included Gokudera and Lal Mirch. Ryohei nodded at their arrival, while Gokudera rolled his eyes at Tsubame was taking her time. She flipped him the bird.

"Don't underestimate Hibari Kyoya, Sawada," said Lal, frowning.

"I understand," said Tsuna, fists clenched. "Giannini-san, please open the hatch."

"Yes, sir!" chirped Giannini. "Hatch F is open!"

* * *

"Stop worrying," Gokudera told her gruffly. "Hibari may be an ass, but he won't let a bunch of nobodies defeat him."

"I guess," Tsubame grumbled as they climbed up the ladder. They went up into the air ducts which would vomit them out directly into the Millefiore based located in Namimori's shopping centre. Grimacing, Tsubame was forced to watch the bottom of Gokudera's sneakers as they shimmied through the metal ducts, Ryohei right behind her.

"Wait," called out Lal, who was at the head of the formation. "There's a grid of infrared laser sensors ahead. They go on for the next five metres."

"It's okay," reassured Ryohei. "This is just what we've been preparing for."

Ahead of her, Gokudera nodded. "Let's do this."

There was a light _clang_ as Lal tossed out the light filter Giannini developed for this very situation. Whirring, it shut down the lasers just long enough for them to shuffle through.

"Safe!" breathed Ryohei, the last to get through. Tsubame could barely hear him over the wild beating of her heart. "Saved by a hair's breadth."

But it was too soon to celebrate. They all looked up as mechanical clicks filled the cramped space, and watched as several laser guns sprung to life.

"The hell?!" bellowed Lal. "The lasers are firing!"

Bright lights burned into Tsubame's retinas right before she saw Yamamoto grab the handle of his bamboo sword. The next thing she knew, they were plummeting through the air as he sliced through the duct like it was wet paper.

They crashed to the floor loudly enough to alert anyone within thirty metre radius of their presence. Groaning, Tsubame shoved Gokudera off of her and pulled herself to her feet. At least she hadn't landed on her face like Tsuna had.

"We didn't touch the lasers," noted Lal, her special goggles still on. "What happened?"

A boisterous laugh caught their attention. "That's 'cause I pressed the switch!" announced someone who looked more cyborg than man. He was huge, easily twice her weight, height and width. But the most terrifying part about him was his disgusting mohawk. It wasn't even a traditional upright one – it was long and shaggy, and just not right.

Subtly, as Ryohei's figure blocked the man's sight of her, Tsubame snuck her left hand into her right sleeve. In addition to her fans, it hid a wristband that held her box. It rested on the top of her arm, rather than the bottom, so that it wouldn't block her fan's path. The box was angled so that its opening faced that of her sleeve's, and Tsubame managed to light her ring and open the box while the enemy was still chattering away.

"Since the Vongola should be getting their asses handed to them right now, you lot much just be some lost kids, huh?"

"T-That's right," stammered Tsuna. "So, uh, do you mind letting us go?"

"Nah," said Mohawk Man (for lack of an actual name). "Thanks to you guys, I'll get to test out my new weapons."

 _So that's what the bulky shoulder pads are for?_ Now that she looked closely, Tsubame could spot several circular openings in the man's armour. _Guns? Miniature cannons, maybe?_

Mohawk Man lifted a large hand, revealing a ring coloured green with Lightning flames. Rather than using them to fuel a box weapon, though, he inserted the ring into the bottom of his armour. The six holes—three on each shoulder, one for each of them—gaped open and, like cannons, shot out streams of Lightning flames at them.

It didn't hit, of course. Other than Gokudera, who used one of his numerous boxes to defend himself, everyone else dove out of the way. When the flames hit Gokudera's defense, it caused a minor explosion, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris that was perfect as cover.

Yamamoto emerged from left, Tsubame from the right, and Momo flew straight up in the air. Keeping guard, Tsubame watched as Momo captured Mohawk Man's gaze and, with a sweep of its firey wings, showered him with toxic feathers. The Wind flames helped burn the armour, effectively distracting him while Yamamoto dashed forward and sliced through the weakened material.

Tsubame wasn't sure if the cut was fatal, but they didn't stop to check. After Lal used her stealth ring to render herself invisible to any spyware, she applied one of Giannini's model filters to change the camera's feed. They had received a limited amount from Fuuta, so their first goal was to disable the security server.

Of course, Mohawk Man wasn't the only enemy they ran into. Next up was someone called Ginger Bread, the vice-captain of Millefiore's 8th squad, whatever _that_ meant. Lal called her the Magician's Doll, and Tsubame could see why; she was eerily doll-like, from her caramel curls to her starry eyes and cutesy get-up.

Not only was she creepy, she was annoying to boot. Ginger Bread purposefully antagonised them by bringing up Colonello, Lal's weak spot, as well as the inherent weakness of the arcobaleno. Naturally, Lal couldn't let that slide, and fell for Ginger Bread's barbs.

Objectively, it was an amazing fight. While Ginger Bread used trickery and deceit, Lal won through sheer ability. Ginger Bread hadn't counted on Lal being able to use Rain flames to neutralise the Sun spiders she had infested Lal's body with. Instead of causing Lal's body to burst from the inside out like they were meant to, the Rain's tranquillity property subdued them.

"Her body…" murmured Tsubame. "It's surrounded by flames." No weapons or animals, just pure, unfiltered flames.

"The curse of the Chosen Eight," clarified Lal, as Rain flames continued to envelop her form. "I wouldn't be able to pull this off if Colonello hadn't taken my place as the Rain arcobaleno. It's thank to him I can continue living."

"How sweet," simpered Ginger Bread, hovering in the air on a broom of all things. "But you're still going to die."

That was as far as she got before Lal sprang up after her. Using herself as a human cage, Lal hugged Ginger Bread from behind like a particularly malicious koala. One of her arms was pressed against the girl's throat, ready to choke her to death if she had to. Fortunately, Lal had her box weapon to do the dirty work for her.

There was a soft _whoosh_ as the centipede rushed through the air and, using its sharp pincers, skewered Ginger Bread's torso. Grimacing, Tsubame steeled herself for the waterfall of blood and guts, but it never came.

Instead, Lal bellowed, "Get down!" and they all knew better than to question her. Tsubame dropped to the ground with the rest of them as an explosion went off where Lal and Ginger Bread had been. Tsubame's ears were still ringing as she rose to survey the scene.

They got up just as the last of the smoke was clearing. Lal was on the floor, thankfully in one piece, while her centipede unfurled around her. Evidently, she had used it as shield at the last moment.

"That was extremely incredible," praised Ryohei. "We've gained vengeance for Colonello-shishou, if only partly."

"Did that parasite get blown to bits?" wondered Gokudera, glancing around.

"Not really," said Yamamoto. The tip of his bamboo sword prodded what was supposed to be the corpse of Ginger Bread – except, it was difficult to kill something that had never been alive in the first place.

"The Magician's Doll is a literal doll?" said Tsubame, stunned. "No wonder…"

Lal's lips pulled back into a snarl. "To this day we still don't know what the Magician even looks like."

"Scary," Tsuna mumbled, shivering.

"Like a fairy," added Ryohei.

Yamamoto chuckled. "You mean a monster, right?"

Despite her win, Lal remained troubled. Upon catching sight of Tsubame watching her, though, she schooled her features into something more passive.

"Oi, Lal Mirch," grunted Gokudera. "Isn't it about time you tell us? About the mystery of the arcobaleno?"

Tsubame rolled her eyes. "Really? Right now?" she asked snidely.

"I refuse," proclaimed Lal, intervening before they could start bickering for real. "But if you really want to know, ask Yamamoto."

The boy in question shifted uncomfortably as several pairs of eyes immediately focused on him. "Ah, yeah, Reborn told me about it," he stammered.

As much as they longed to interrogate Yamamoto, the wailing of sirens reminded them where they were and why.

"Does the enemy know we're here?" gasped Tsuna.

Lal spat a glob of blood and saliva to the side. "That damn Ginger. He must've reported us." She sprang up, wincing slightly. "Let's go!"

As they darted from the room, Tsubame thought, _This isn't so bad._ The few enemies they had encountered were either buffoons or too arrogant for their own good, allowing them to escape relatively unscathed. As long as they kept this up, they'd be back home in no time.

Little did she know, this was only the tip of the iceberg.

* * *

 **A/N:** You guys should def re-watch eps 108 & 109\. They're pretty great.


End file.
